The times they are a changin'
by SylvieT
Summary: Grissom is on his way to find Sara in Costa Rica after leaving CSI. Sadly, all doesn't go according to plan and fate conspires against him. Story mostly centered on Grissom and his predicament. A sad tale. GSR. Please, read and review.
1. Chapter 1

Please, don't let the beginning in Spanish put you off, it will make sense! Mistakes are all mine, Spanish ones and all.

Thanks to Bob Dylan for loaning the title to this story.

* * *

Somewhere over the Corcovado National Park. Costa Rica. Present day.

"Mayday, mayday…vuelo 473 de San Jose a destino de…Puerto Jiménez…Capitán Alejandro Lopez hablando. Mayday, mayday."

"Vuelo 473. Aquí la torre de control de Puerto Jiménez. Escuchamos."

"Tenemos un problema…motor derecho en llamas…aterrizare forzoso…"

"¿Puede llegar aquí?

"Negativo…demasiado bajo…arriba Laguna Corcovado…"

"¿Vuelo 473…Capitán, Capitán?

"……"

I am deafened by the loud blast of the exploding engine. Still, I can hear the piercing sound of alarms going off in the cockpit. I look across the cabin, through the small window on the opposite side of the aircraft where the flames have engulfed the right wing of the plane and are licking at the cabin, thick black smoke bellowing out.

I brace myself for the inevitable. We are going to crash.

Is this how it all ends?

I'm not a practising catholic anymore and yet I find myself praying to God for a miracle.

They say that your life flashes before you when at death's door but I can't say it is true in my case – know that you are my last thoughts as we plunge from the sky.

_

* * *

_

Have you ever been at a crossroads?

_Stupid question. Of course you have, many times I imagine._

_Timing is everything and my timing has always been off – as far as you're concerned anyway._

_Naively maybe – well definitely, I can see that now – I thought, rather hoped that my leaving CSI would be the catalyst, the dawn of my new life. _

_That is all I could think about. A puff of magic. A fresh start. _

_But it didn't quite turn out that way, not quite. _

_I am in limbo, for want of a better word, somehow stuck between two worlds, two periods of my lives – past and future. The present in the meantime does not interest me. I'm in a transitional state; the present only serves me in looking towards my future. _

_I've done it. Finally. It was with some sadness that I walked away from the best part of twenty years of my life. I have no doubt that I will miss the lab, the team, my friends, and my family but as I was to realize, not as much as the misery I have felt the past few months missing you. _

_Admitting as much to myself was the first step._

_The end. The beginning…the rest of my life. My future, _our_ future. "It's taken you long enough" you'd say and you'd be right_.

_Strangely, I feel…a little apprehensive, weary, scared even. I have never acted this impulsively before, you might even call it rashness, for spontaneity is not a trait I thought I possessed. _

_But I also feel liberated, relieved, elated. The list is endless. After so many months of turmoil, these are the emotions I want to hang on to, feelings I want to share with you._

_Now my life is …a blank canvas. What better analogy? So many roads, endless possibilities, so much inspiration. I'm more excited now than I was thirty years ago. God Sara I'm old and yet I feel so rejuvenated._

_You see, I'm trying. I'm working on it – expressing my inner thoughts, putting them into words, even if sadly, it's still only on _paper_. And yes, you were right. It helps. It helped with making the right decision. Whatever our outcome, my leaving CSI was the right thing to do._

_A new beginning and a new man. I've thought about little else for a while now. Can people change? And more to the point, can _I_ change? I've watched, observed, wondered, and even outright asked and… I hope I can – change that is. _

_And maybe I have already._

You_ have. I wish I could be, become what you need me to be, what you want me to be. I don't want to have to let you down again – ever, because of my ineptitudes, of my shortcomings. God knows I'm deficient in a lot of ways. _

_I can't afford to, really, can I?_

_I'm scared, I'm petrified. What if I'm too late? What if you don't need me in the new life you've forged for yourself? Have you moved on? Are you happy? With someone else, without me – away from me? _

_So many unanswered questions._

_I have many doubts and yet I trust in you, in me – in us. _I thought we could survive anything_, still echoes in my mind. I have faith for both of us and I'm prepared to do what it takes to prove it to you._

_I've left it all. All behind. It was the only way. And I can only imagine that what I'm feeling now is exactly how you must have felt when you left Vegas. You didn't leave _me_, you left _it_._

_I can see that now. I never understood until…Warrick got killed, until you had left for the second time, until it was too late. _Too late_. _

_For someone so smart, relationships and people have always baffled me, you know that. It's not an excuse, there's no excuse for my behaviour, just another shortcoming I'm working on._

_I'm ready now. It's the right time._

_So I'm on my way, or rather we're on our way, Hank and I, on our way to promise you a beautiful life, a life you promised me over and over again, a life I never truly accepted, a life I now yearn for. I want to lay myself bare and start over. _

_You see, I've done the research. The internet, the world at your fingertips…call it coincidence, happenstance, fate, chance – well you know what my thoughts are on that front, but my departure from CSI fortunately coincides with the return of the Sea Shepherd to the US._

_All that, and still our reunion isn't going to be – not quite yet._

_A small hurdle._

_So what if you weren't where I thought you would be. Not such a great investigator after all. I'm just going to have to do a bit more digging around, some detective work. _

_No big deal, right? _

* * *

Do you like the premise? It's certainly going to be different from the other fics on how Grissom got to Sara in Costa Rica. All is not plain sailing for Grissom. Let me know if you want to know more...

Please leave a review.


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere over the Corcovado National Park. Costa Rica. Present day.

The mayday message from the frantic pilot echoes on the public address system inside the cabin. I can only imagine that we are not meant to hear his last desperate announcement. Sadly my rusty Spanish is good enough to understand that he is going to attempt an emergency landing on a nearby lake.

In the same instant, the momentum of the plummeting plane pulls me violently forward. Thank God I always keep my seatbelt fastened for it is the only thing that can save me from certain death. The older man seated across from me obviously did not display such prudence as he finds himself suddenly propelled forward, his forehead hitting the seat in front with such force that the whole of his body resembles that of a crash-test dummy smashing into a wall at full speed.

He is already dead.

I assume what I hope is the best position to protect myself, my survival instinct prevailing. I curl as far down as I can on myself, face as close to my chest and thighs as possible, arms tightly wrapped around my knees. There is nothing more that I can do but await my fate.

It's all over in a matter of seconds.

_

* * *

_

It was totally by chance that I found your

blog_ on the Sea Shepherd website when trying to locate you. It appears that you'd been writing it all along and it pains me to know that I could have followed your progress during these last long few months; I could have known where you were, whether you were well, what you were doing, feeling, experiencing – even if only from a distance, albeit a long one. I very much doubt though, that you'd trust your most personal, intimate thoughts to such a medium but it would have helped – a little. _

_As it happens, _I_ haven't heard from you at all since your e-mail. "Relationships are a two-way process, Grissom" I hear you say and you'd be right – again, for I haven't made any attempt at contacting you either, well until now. _

_The last entry in your journal – I can't bring myself to call it a blog, such a non-entity of a word; anyway, your last entry however stops two weeks ago. Alarm bells maybe should have rung but I don't think anything of it as I avidly devour your words: so much happiness, energy, enthusiasm, so many superlatives, and it brings a smile to my face to imagine you among the beauty you're describing. _

_I find out that you're on the final leg of your trip and I make a promise to myself that I'd be there when you disembark. Two more days…timing is everything and mine is perfect for once._

_A blog? I ask myself, a crazy idea nestling in my brain. Why not? _

_What better way to communicate all the things I should say to you that I never said; what I'll never find the right words for. I'm determined to be a changed man. I decide to follow in your footsteps and start writing too; no one will ever get to read it, right? So what the hell?_

_So there it is; day one of the rest of my life._

_I leave Vegas in the middle of the night, having only just left CSI a few hours ago for the final time. After a few hours' restless sleep, Hank and I make our way to San Francisco, where I know you should be. We can't get there fast enough and make it with plenty of time to spare. It's only just the crack of dawn. We drive past the marina, yachts of all sizes gently wobbling in the morning light. The docks are deserted except for a couple of fishing boats unloading their catch._

_The thought of missing the return of the ship and more importantly missing you, fills me with dread so I just stand there, at the quayside, watching, Hank's leash held loosely in my hand. He sits quietly by my feet, eagerly yet patiently waiting – is that even possible?_

_Both our gazes are turned towards the entrance of the harbour where I'm told your boat should be sailing from. It's going to be a beautiful dry day; the sun has only just started to burn off the morning sea mist and we're getting a clearer view of the whole body of water. The slight breeze blowing off the ocean is refreshing and the faint smell of salt fills my mind with foreign skies. I can't help but let my mind wander and think back to your words in your journal._

_I don't know how long we stay there, immobile, mesmerised by the undulating water._

_There's quite a welcoming committee now, you don't seem to be the only loved one returning from this trip on the Sea Shepherd. My eyes are still trained on the greyish murky waters, scanning the estuary in anticipation, searching for any signs of the impending vessel._

_And finally, it comes. My first reaction surprises even me. The boat is a lot bigger than I expected. My second reaction? My heart skips a beat, my mouth is dry and I find myself grinning with giddy excitement. God, how I long to hold you in my arms again._

_As I watch the last of the smiling volunteers disembark though, I'm left with the realisation that you're not there and sensing my discomfort and disappointment, Hank whimpers by my side._

_I turn to leave, despondent, gently pulling at the leash of my reluctant friend. He doesn't seem to want to relinquish his spot on the quay, showing more optimism and hope than I do. _

_For, I already know._

"_Can I help you?" I hear someone with a slight trace of a foreign accent ask._

_I turn around, startled. "Excuse me?"_

_The man, who I think might be French smiles warmly at us. "You were waiting… are you looking for someone in particular?"_

_I hesitate. The man continues. "My name is Marc Sabatier. I'm the captain of the Sea Shepherd" he adds, nodding back over his shoulder towards the ship._

"_Oh! Hello, I was…I thought…" I stammer and give the man what I can only think is a half smile, maybe even a smirk, shrugging in vain. I shake my head absent-mindedly, "never mind..."_

"_Are you looking for Sara?" wonders the man smiling, obviously sensing my uneasiness. _

_At the mention of her name, Hank sits up expectantly looking towards me, ears pricking up. I lift my head, hopeful, wondering. "What makes you ask? How do you know?"_

"_She's the only one from our crew not to have made it back ashore with us..."_

"_Has something happened to her?" I cut him off, unable to disguise the panic and concern from my voice._

_Picking up on my alarm, he hastens to add. "No, no, sorry. Nothing like that. She just left us early." It was his turn to hesitate. "Do you know her well?"_

Do I know her well? _"Excuse me?" I can't seem to be able to put two coherent words together but as the captain is still giving me a friendly smile, I eventually manage to reply. "Yes… yes, I do."_

_He nods knowingly, seeming to understand something beyond _my_ comprehension._

"_She just… how can I put it? She didn't want to… wished to stay longer in Costa Rica, said she'd fallen in love with the place, something about finally finding beauty. She's right, of course; it's truly beautiful out there, still unspoilt."_

_His words resonate in my mind. _Beauty. Unspoilt_. What else can I do but silently nod my head in understanding. For I understood too well._

"_We parted ways on our last stop on terra firma, before our final leg towards the US shores a fortnight ago. She was a volunteer so it wasn't a problem."_

_That explains the unfinished journal. "Where was that exactly, if you don't mind my asking?"_

"_Not at all. Puerto Jiménes on the Península de Osa on the Pacific side of the country. We anchored there for a few days."_

"_Thank you for your help." I manage to say after a while, the significance of his words finally sinking in. _

_I smile and bend down to gently ruffle Hank's ears. "Come on, boy, let's go back home, we've got some more searching to do."_

_Timing is indeed everything. And today my timing sucked. _

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Apologies if you've had chapter 1 reposted…I just needed to swap the fonts round, the content is the same. Also, I know that the Sea Shepherd sails from Friday Harbour, Washington State, but it was too far for Grissom to drive to with Hank so I used a bit of poetic licence.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: For those of you who don't speak Spanish, I have added a glossary at the end of the chapter. Enjoy chapter 3!

_

* * *

_

So that's how you want it to be, huh?

_A challenge? You know I wouldn't turn down a good challenge. If you want to play cat and mouse, I'm in. Truth be told, I relish the thought of the chase. It's just what I need._

_A puzzle? You know I can solve _any_ puzzle. One last case? It seems my skills as a CSI will come in handy once again. Not any case though. A missing person – you._

Costa Rica_. I dust off my old textbooks about Central America, actually textbook in the singular, and I realise it's worryingly old and outdated. I decide to power up my laptop and key in with nervous fingers the words Costa Rica and Puerto Jiménes, the only lead I have on your case._

_I discover that the Corcovado National Park forms part of the coastal rainforest of Costa Rica and is a haven for countless species of fauna and flora. This wild area is considered an excellent life laboratory, in which one can study the structure and function of the tropical ecosystems and the relation between them. _

_This is music to my ears and I go into overdrive._

_I need a plan, an excuse, and a motive to be there. _

_I'm not a crime scene analyst anymore but I'm still a scientist. That'll never change. I'll always be a scientist. I can't remember a time in my life not revolving around science in one way or another. It's always been the one constant. And once again, it will serve my purpose brilliantly._

_I haven't been filled with so much enthusiasm since…I can't remember. _

_As I read all the information I can process about Costa Rica and its Parque Nacional Corcovado, I find myself relishing the thought of joining one of the many groups of scientists doing research and studies in the area and I can't help casting my thoughts back to the last time I was in the Rainforest while completing my final thesis for my doctorate on Entomology – more than _thirty_ years ago…need I add more!_

_The Rainforest. You may recall our many conversations on the subject and the fact that I often spoke about returning and visiting there with you. We never did. It seems oddly ironic now that you should be the one taking me back there at__this time in my life._

_I can already hear the howl of the monkeys echoing across the treetops, I'm already looking forward to discovering and documenting new species of arachnids and tropical insects and I can't help wondering whether now is the season when turtles lay their eggs. _

_I don't waste any time and immediately get in touch with Eric Grafton from the Sirena Biological Research Station and offer my services pro bono. I don't care what I do as long as I'm there. I get a reply the next day and they jump at the chance of another research volunteer, especially one with my credentials. _

_As soon as I've accepted their offer, they e-mail me all the information I need in order to make my way there as well as what I'll require to pack, all the health checks, documents and precautions I need to take care of before my departure. Strangely enough, the only hurdle I thought I'd encounter is easily overcome as I discover that US nationals do not need a visa to enter Costa Rica, as long as they have an outbound ticket to show customs and they don't intend to remain in the country for longer than ninety days. _

_Ninety days. That should be long enough, shouldn't it?_

_I can't believe this is all so easy and quick to organise._

_I don't even bother to inquire about whether they know who you are. I figure I'll find out soon enough anyway and I'm so excited about coming, it doesn't seem to matter so much. My heart tells me this is where you are, the place where you've finally found beauty. My inner compass points me in your direction._

_Not willing to waste any more time than necessary, I schedule an appointment with my physician for the next day and start making inquiries about flights. I need to update the required inoculations for the many diseases that can be found in such environment, which in themselves sound weirdly exotic: malaria, typhoid, hepatitis A and B and even rabies are widespread. _

_When I leave the doctor's surgery the following day, after patiently listening to a long lecture about the health dangers associated with travelling to such a humid climate at my age and a lot of advice on staying well-hydrated as well as protected from the heat__**,**__ I have in my possession a prescription for three months' worth of malaria tablets, which I need to start immediately, as well as two injection marks; the first injection to boost up my general immunity against infections and the other one a precautionary vaccine against rabies. _

_I leave the surgery rubbing my sore ass but nearer my goal. _

_When I return home, I book my flight to San Jose via Guatemala City, and a connecting flight to Puerto Jiménes. I figure the rest can be taken care of when I get there. _

_Have you ever seen me this impetuous? I'm like a kid on Christmas day._

_I put together what I will need to pack for my journey. I go in the attic and rummage for my rucksack that hasn't seen the light of day in many years and wipe the coating of dust off it. I also make a mental note to locate my old phrasebook to brush up on my Spanish on the plane as I'm sure, after so many years, my Spanish must be somewhat _out of practice_, not to put too positive a spin on it. _

_This is all so exciting! I can't wait._

_Oh but, there is one last thing I have to do before I leave. _

_I look down indulgently towards my loyal friend, soundly sleeping at my feet and smile. I'm sorry that he won't get to share this adventure with me, with us. I pick up the phone and dial a very familiar number…_

"_Hey, Catherine. It's Grissom. I…I need a favour…"_

* * *

At the crash site, near Lake Corcovado. Present day.

"¿Señor, señor?" called a panic-stricken Spanish-speaking person to a seemingly unconscious and badly injured man. He proceeded to shake him slightly on the shoulder to check for signs of life. There weren't any.

At first glance, it appeared that the wounded man had been thrown out of the plane on impact, still firmly strapped in his seat. The main body of the plane laid some thirty feet away, snapped in two.

"¿Crees que está muerto?" asked a second male voice after a while.

"No, miras. Está moviendo." replied the first man to his friend. And then turning back to look at the wounded man, he added: "¿Señor, si os oye, puede mover su mano?

"Argh…"

"¿Señor, entiende?"

"Argh…sorry, I…don't…understand. Please, help." The man's voice was so faint it was barely audible.

"¿Americano? Señor, accidente…plane crash." replied the second man. He quickly scrambled for his rucksack and took out his radio to call for help.

"¿Señor, cómo se llama usted? Your name? Can you tell me your name?" continued the first man.

"Huh? Gris…som. D…rink."

"Miguel, dame el agua, por favor." Miguel completed his radio call, unclipped the canteen attached to one of the straps of the rucksack and passed it to Pablo. The latter carefully manoeuvred the canteen towards Grissom's mouth letting only a few drops wet his lips. "Señor Grisham, my name is Pablo. Voy a…I'm going to help you…? Do you have pain?"

"My legs…I can't move my legs" gasped Grissom faintly. He was starting to get agitated, lapsing in and out of consciousness. "I…headache."

"That's okay, señor. ¡No se preocupa ahora! We're going to get you out. Miguel radioed for help." Pablo added in a very accurate but hesitant English, trying to calm a rapidly deteriorating Grissom.

"Argh…"

Noticing that Grissom's head was starting to hang limply to the side, Pablo was unable to hide the panic from his voice. ¿Señor, señor?"

"¿Pablo, está inconsciente?

"Sí, sí, vaya, Miguel, vas a buscar ayuda. ¡Rápido!"

* * *

Tbc.

Are you still reading? Please, review with any comments you may have, good and bad, I need all the advice and encouragement I can get!

Glossary:

Señor - Sir

¿Crees que está muerto? - Do you think he's dead?

No, miras, está moviendo - No, look, he's moving.

Dame el agua por favor - Give me the water please.

¿Si os oye, puede mover su mano? - If you can hear us, can you move your hand?

¿Entiende? - Do you understand?

No se preocupa ahora - don't worry

Está inconsciente - he's unconscious

Vas a buscar ayuda - Go get some help


	4. Chapter 4

_The flight from Los Angeles to San Jose brings me a bit nearer still. The eight hour trip, including a stopover in Guatemala City will give me plenty of opportunity to catch up on a few things. I thought I would be exhausted by now but instead find myself strangely energised. I don't seem to be able to settle to sleep. _

_It's a little over a week since I've left CSI and apart from my phone call to Catherine, I haven't seen or spoken to anyone since – not even Jim. Catherine very kindly agreed to look after both Hank and the house in my absence and offered to forward a few of my things to the research centre. Unsurprisingly, she had guessed my reasons for my going to Costa Rica and to both our surprise, for once I didn't bother denying my intentions. _

_As you can see, I'm sticking to my resolution._

_The pilot informs us that we are now flying over Mexico and I find it hard to concentrate on the article about Puerto Jiménes being 'the gateway to beautiful Corcovado, the crown jewel of the National Parks and biological reserves of the country' as I let my mind wander. _

_I'm even looking forward to trekking through the 'gorgeous and abundant wildlife that the Corcovado Park has to offer' to reach Sirena, although I'm not entirely sure about the eight hour estimated time for the trek and the fact that in the jungle, the temperature and humidity can soar to unbearable heights! This will certainly be a sharp contrast from the landscape and climate we're familiar with in Vegas. _

_I hope I haven't taken on too much and that my knees can take the strain! Please Sara, don't laugh! For mockery does not befit you._

_The thumb-size photographs accompanying the article are mind-blowing, breath-taking and I can only imagine how much more stunning the reality will be. I had forgotten how truly amazing this part of the world is._

_God Sara, I hope you haven't moved on!_

_xxxxxxx_

_At long last! We've been stuck in Guatemala City for four hours now because some mechanical failure on the plane delayed our departure a further two hours. Four long hours sitting in the departure lounge of some small airport with nothing to do. I'm glad I had the forethought of booking my connecting flight for the next day as otherwise I would have missed it. I'm also glad I remembered to pack my copy of Moby Dick; it's certainly helping me kill time if nothing else! _

'_Call me Ishmael' indeed!_

_I can't say I recall the remainder of the flight to Juan Santamaria international airport. I don't remember falling asleep but I must have as the next thing I know, the air stewardess is gently shaking me awake. It seems that we're about to land and I need to put my seat in the upright position._

_After landing, I quickly make my way to baggage reclaim and then proceed to Customs where, while standing in line for nearly an hour watching bags being emptied, searched and then re-packed, the enormity of what I have done suddenly hits me. _

_There is no turning back. _

_When it gets to my turn, I endeavour to explain my visit to Costa Rica in broken Spanish using a mixture of sign language, a few carefully worded expletives and much, much smiling and arm movement. _

_Needless to say that 'la policía' are not overly friendly, willing to speak or understand much English – I personally think that they understand everything but take much pleasure in tormenting us tourists. _

_We slowly get there eventually. Tomorrow, I shall get on one last plane, one that will take me even closer to you, to Puerto Jiménes. I can't wait!_

* * *

At the crash site, near Lake Corcovado. Present day.

When Pablo and Miguel, two Hispanic scientists from the local research centre based in the Sirena Ranger Station stumbled upon the scene, they were busy collecting specimens of different types of ferns, never imagining what they would come across instead.

The horror of what they found left them speechless.

They were met with a sight of pure devastation. An area the size of three football pitches had been totally destroyed by the crash landing of the aircraft. The hurtling plane had cut a gaping hole through the canopy overhead and it was a rare sight to catch a glance of blue sky from these parts of the Nature Reserve. The forest all around them was scorched and flattened; trees which used to stretch as tall as the eye could see were now razed to the ground, branches hanging limply off them, wrecked metal tangled among the dense vegetation of the jungle.

What struck them was how eerily silent the crash site was. If they had shut their eyes they couldn't have guessed the catastrophe except for the sickly sweet smell of spilled kerosene which lingered all around.

When they were over their first reactions – stupor, then disbelief and finally an overwhelming feeling of nausea quickly followed by violent vomiting for both men, they had a quick glance around the area searching for survivors but sadly they found none. They could make out three, no four unidentifiable dead bodies mangled with the metal of the plane to their left and a couple more strewn about the bushes ten feet away.

The plane, a small commuter-type propeller-driven aircraft, which could seat up to thirty passengers, laid snapped in half. The front section, which by all account looked like it had taken the brunt of the crash, had dug a hole in the soft ground and was unrecognisable. It was apparent that anybody seated in that section of the aircraft and in the cockpit would have perished on impact.

As for the rest of the fuselage, it was more or less intact apart from the wings which must have broken off when first colliding with the top of the trees. They had come to rest some thirty feet away from the aircraft.

And this is where they had finally come across a severely injured Grissom.

The two men had contacted the research centre on their radio without delay. When Eric Grafton, the Canadian in charge of the centre, had received the distressed radio call from Miguel, he had in turn immediately called the authorities to inform them. They already knew, alerted by the air traffic controllers at the airport, and were gathering the Search and Rescue team from Puerto Jiménes as well as an aviation investigation unit from San Jose.

Any organised professional rescue team would take time to assemble and get to the site, as they would have to come all the way from Puerto Jiménes, get to the nearest Ranger Station by helicopter and then hike their way to the crash site on foot. The remote location of the crash as well as the dense vegetation would make such a rescue mission hard, long and extremely perilous. It would take the rescue team hours and they certainly would not be able to make it before night fall.

It was with all that in mind that Eric had made an immediate decision and had informed the authorities that, as their research centre was located relatively near the crash site – approximately a half-hour hike away, they would go and see if they could be of any help. Without wasting any time, he had then contacted Stéphane on the radio, quickly summarizing the situation and asking him to return to the centre as soon as possible.

Stéphane Mercier was a French ex- Médecins Sans Frontières doctor on the research team who unfortunately at that moment in time happened to be one of three people away on the nearby Pacific Coast near the town of Carate on a study to document the hatching of sea turtles' eggs. Richard, a thirty something Australian marine biologist, Sara, a volunteer photographer and Stéphane had been gone five days into a week's study on the nearby coast. No doubt Sara and Richard could finish up on their own and would head back when their work was completed.

Afterwards, Eric had hastily got together his makeshift team of rescuers, gathered everything and anything that he, Mary and two park rangers could carry that could be of use to help and possibly attend to the survivors – that is if any were still alive. They had loaded it all onto a cradle-like basket stretcher that they could carry or pull along if necessary, and had soon set off. Time was of the essence and they didn't waste any.

They made fairly slow progress following the grid references and coordinates that Miguel had given them from their map. The trek was hard, hindered by the weight of the basket stretcher, the heat and humidity and the thick vegetation.

Emerging from the darkness of the jungle into the bright sunshine allowed to seep through the flattened forest, Mary was the first to arrive at the periphery of the crash site and see the devastation all around. She stopped suddenly, looking all around her in shock and disbelief and bringing a trembling hand to her mouth, she gasped audibly.

"Oh, Dear God!"

She shakily unstrapped the heavy emergency rucksack she was carrying on her back and let it fall to the ground. She then slowly turned her haunted gaze towards the sky and mouthed a silent prayer followed by a slow sign of the cross.

"Are they all dead?" she whispered to Eric who had now made it to her side.

* * *

Tbc.


	5. Chapter 5

_We've left San Jose on schedule and have been in the air for fifteen minutes now on our way to the small harbour that is Puerto Jiménes. I've decided to spend tonight there before setting off for the long trek to Sirena at sunrise. I'm hoping to be able to cover as much ground as possible before the sun hits its zenith. I read it's just a simple matter of following a well-trodden path and cross a river or two at the correct time because of the tides. How hard can that be!_

_Today, I'm seating in a much smaller aircraft than I anticipated. If I was to hazard a guess, well you know I don't do that, so if I was to do a quick head count, I'd say there are maybe twenty of us in all, including the crew. _

_It's a very bright and clear day and from my place looking out of the small window, I can see the magnificent rolling landscape. We fly over small villages nestling among mountains one minute and villages near rivers at the edge of vast expanse of brilliant green forests the next. _

_After a while spent mesmerised by the beauty of the wilderness, picturing you somewhere among it – hiking your way through the lush greenery or up the mountains, or even paddling down one of the rivers on a canoe, I take out from the breast pocket of my shirt my glasses and the picture I have of us – you know the one, and stare at it dreamingly for the longest time, remembering every nuance of your eyes, every curve of your smile, every freckle of your skin and… _

"_Gil" I turn around on hearing the sound of your voice calling my name. _

_I'm grinning. "Hey, where have you been? I've been looking for you."_

"_I know. I was…"_

"_Come here" I cut in, pulling you closer to me, inhaling deeply so as to recapture the memory of your scent, holding you tight. _

"_I've missed you so much."_

_I hold on to you, cling to you for dear life. I fear otherwise that you might evaporate, disappear from my grasp one more time._

_Eventually, I take a step back and lock my gaze to your expectant one. I slowly lift my hand up and cup your face. I bring two trembling fingers up to caress your cheek. You close your eyes, lips instinctively parting as you lean into my touch. I tilt my head, my eyes lost in yours and gently brush my lips to your mouth. _

_God you feel so good that my heart skips a beat and…_

…_I am deafened by the loud blast of the exploding engine._

_I hastily take off my glasses and put them and the photograph back in the breast pocket of my shirt, just in time to hear the pilot's distress call over the public address system. "Mayday… mayday..."_

* * *

At the crash site, near Lake Corcovado. Present day.

"Are they all dead?"

"I don't know, Mary." Eric looked all around him in amazement. "Miguel said that they found someone still alive, but barely and very badly injured." He caught a glimpse of Mary's unshed tears and asked: "Are you going to be alright?"

Mary just nodded her head, rooted to the spot, in shock, tears spilling from her eyes.

"Come on, Mary, let's see what we can do to help" continued Eric, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Miguel?" he called. "Miguel? Pablo?"

"Por allí, over here." Miguel shouted back, hidden from sight by the plane wreck. "He must have got ejected."

Eric rushed to the two men's location. Meanwhile, the two Park Rangers went in the other direction, searching to see if they could find any more survivors.

"He's been unconscious for fifteen minutes. He spoke a little, enough to tell us he was called Grisham and that he couldn't move his legs and that his head hurt." Pablo told Eric as he got to them.

"Mmm." Eric rapidly assessed the situation, wiping perspiration from his face.

"Oh! So much blood… God knows how long he's been lying there already" uttered a carefully approaching Mary on glancing towards Grissom's bloodied body.

"Mary, you're not helping!" Eric snapped. "Okay, let's see… Mr Grisham, can you hear me?" Eric put two fingers to the pulse point on Grissom's neck, glad he could still remember his army training. He got a very faint groan in response. "Okay, I can feel a pulse…he's still breathing, but barely" he added for the benefit of the others.

He then reached for the oxygen mask attached to a small hand-held oxygen tank from the bag and delicately placed it on Grissom's nose and mouth. "Mary?" he exclaimed. "Come on, Mary, you're a nurse, you must have seen your fair share of blood…"

"_Was_ a nurse, Eric and a long time ago!" replied Mary wearily. "And there's a reason I gave up nursing."

"Still. Come on," he added more softly, "I need your help; _this man _needs your help."

She nodded hesitantly. "What do you need me to do?"

"I want to try to stabilise him a little before we can transport him back to the infirmary at the centre. There's not much we can do to help him here. If we can get him to Stéphane in time, he's got a chance." He told Mary, Miguel and Pablo, awaiting his instructions. "The jungle's too hot, too humid and there's too much insect activity. He's being eaten alive by the mosquitoes" he continued. "But first, we have to get him out of this damn seat…there's no way we can carry him still in it."

He looked up from the body to catch his breath, wipe his brow again and check that the others were still listening, taking some time to arrange his thoughts into a plan. The late afternoon sun was still beating down hard on them.

"Right. Mary, hand me the neck collar, please."

"Be careful, he could have a spinal injury…"

"I know. Pablo, bring the basket closer and then help me lift him out of his seat. Careful where you hold him, both his legs look broken. He seems to be bleeding a lot from the left one." Eric said while unbuckling Grissom and fixing the neck collar, carefully avoiding sudden movements and deftly keeping the oxygen mask out of the way.

At this point, Grissom was once again teetering on the edge of consciousness. "I'll place his arm in a sling to hold it in place while we try to move him. Miguel, you go and find me some sticks to make some splints for his legs, ¿entiendes?"

"Sí."

"I'm ready, Eric" said Pablo.

"Okay. On my three. One, two, three…Good. Mary, find the gauze in the bag, use it to apply pressure to the laceration on his head and the wound on his thigh. See if you can try to stop the bleeding and then… can you bandage as best you can, please?"

Eric then turned to Pablo. "Pablo, can you radio ahead and see if Stéphane's made it back? If he has, tell them to get him to contact us so that I can brief him on some of Mr Grisham's condition. Tell them that we've got no choice but to transport him back; that it looks like he's already lost a lot of blood. They couldn't land a chopper anywhere round here anyway. Timing is everything. Also, tell them that as far as we've ascertained, he's the only one who's made it alive. Did you get all that?"

"I think so."

Miguel came running back towards the group. "Eric, I've got the sticks."

After finishing to coarsely splint Grissom's legs, they strapped him tightly in the stretcher – so as to avoid unnecessary movement, and started their slow trek back away from the crash site towards the research centre and ranger station. Carrying the stretcher for such a distance on such rugged terrain was hard-work and they had to take it in turns. It would probably take them twice as long to reach their destination as it had taken them to get to the crash site in the first place.

About half-way, Grissom let out a sudden cry of agony. He had regained some consciousness and sounded like he was in horrendous pain.

"Mr Grisham, can you hear me?" asked Mary.

"Argh…"

"Eric, we need to stop! Something's wrong…He's being sick!"

They were forced to stop their slow progress in order to tend to Grissom. Mary removed the oxygen mask and made sure Grissom would not choke on his own vomit.

She could not hide the concern from her voice when she simply stated, "that's not good, is it?"

Eric shook his head. "I don't know…Come on, let's carry on. We've got to get him to the infirmary as soon as possible."

* * *

Tbc.

Thank you for leaving a comment, good or bad!


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as Stéphane received the call on the radio, he started his journey back from the camp which was situated on a beach near Carate on the Pacific Coast and where he had spent the last five days observing night time behaviour of the Pacific Ridly, Leather back, and Green sea turtles – to name but a few. The turtles would come ashore to rest and lay their eggs on the beach. It was a truly fascinating study and he trusted Sara and Richard to complete collecting the data and documenting it with photos and videos without him.

He reached his destination of the Research Centre in no time and made it before the return of Eric and his team. He went straight to the infirmary in order to start preparing the room and all the equipment he would most probably need in order to treat the patient.

As was to be expected from a small infirmary in the middle of nowhere, the place had not been designed for dealing with major traumas. In the past, they hadn't had anything more significant than a few insect and spider bites, broken limbs and cases of dehydration as well as the more bread and butter business of blisters and heat rash.

Yet, because of the remote location of the centre in the middle of the Corcovado Park – the nearest hospital could be found several hours away, and the important volume of tourists that came through its doors, the infirmary was somewhat well-equipped to deal with emergencies.

Judging from the last update Stéphane had received, the injured man was in bad shape, his injuries extensive but by the sound of things, Eric had done everything possible in order to stabilize him, and that without the help of trained paramedics, a doctor or any drugs.

During his time spent in Darfur in Africa in the late nineties, when he was still a doctor with Médecins Sans Frontières, he had seen his fair share of badly injured casualties that they had had to 'scoop and run' with before they could be treated in very basic hospitals in the camps. He truly thought he had left all that behind when he gave up medicine and became a research scientist.

He knew though that his first hand experience in working in unfavourable conditions could be the difference between life and death for his latest patient.

In this instance, his main concern was how much blood the casualty had lost and whether he had gone into shock. That in turn could lead to cardiac arrest or organ failure, which from Eric's account was not an issue at this moment in time but could become one if the rescue team took any longer in returning. What was worrying him the most however, was that the infirmary only had a few units of blood available for transfusion if required and only a few shots of morphine.

_Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it – if we come to it_. _Damn, what is taking them so long!_

All of a sudden, the door of the infirmary was shoved open.

"Stéphane!" said Eric, not even pausing for breath, "we've had a development. On the way back, he became sick and fainted. We checked for a pulse and ..."

"Right, he's probably gone into shock" Stéphane interrupted. "The vomiting is a sign that he's got a concussion. As for the fainting, it was most likely because of the pain and/or low blood pressure. Honestly, it's better for him that he passed out. It's his body's way of coping with the pain, by shutting it down."

Stéphane gave Grissom a quick once-over. "Put the stretcher on here, I'll need help moving him onto the table and then I want everybody out. I want to keep the area as clean as I can. It's obviously not going to be sterile but it'll have to do."

"Okay," Eric told him. "I'll help move him. But whatever first aid I gave him at the crash site was the extent of my medical knowledge, I'm afraid I wouldn't be much help from now on."

"That's fine. I can handle it from here. You did a good job under difficult circumstances. He's lucky you got to him when you did. If you hadn't, he'd probably be adding to the count of fatalities."

"I can help..." Mary said hesitantly as the men shifted Grissom onto the table. "I …was a nurse. I can prep him, pass you what you need, check his vitals… if you want."

"Great, Mary. I'll appreciate the help. Come on everybody, out!"

Stéphane made his way to the small sink in the corner of the room and proceeded to wash his hands thoroughly.

"Mary, can you get him undressed? Mind not to move him too much in case of a back injury." He slightly turned round to give Mary a reassuring smile. "I didn't know you were a nurse… Don't worry, it's like riding a bike." Resuming his scrubbing, he added: "When you're done undressing him, can you clean him up a bit, see where the wounds are from all the blood and dirt?"

"Shall I shave his beard?" Mary asked, putting on some latex gloves.

"No, I think that can wait. It doesn't look like his face got injured in the crash."

Mary started to undo the buttons of Grissom's shirt with trembling hands, slowly, reverently, one by one. She was taking particular care not to touch the areas of his body that looked injured and bruised in an attempt to minimise his suffering. She realised though that she would need to move him in order to take off his shirt so she picked up a pair of surgical scissors to cut it off instead.

She found his passport, glasses and a folded-up photograph in the breast pocket of the shirt and placed them carefully on the side table. Next, she undid the laces on his boots and gently prised those off. Then, she carefully took the splints out and cut his trousers off him in the same respectful manner, cautiously avoiding the still bleeding gash on his thigh.

This time Grissom moved and groaned a little. He was once again regaining consciousness.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, "I'm trying to be as gentle as I can."

She continued her task, removing his watch, which was clearly broken and had stopped at 2.15 and a small gold-linked chain around his neck with what looked like a plain wedding band threaded through it.

"Someone somewhere must be wondering where you've got to" she mused sadly, placing the chain and ring with the rest of his belongings in a plastic bag on the side table.

As she started to wash off the dirt and blood from his face, Stéphane appeared by her side. He was ready to proceed.

"I don't like the look of the bruising that's forming in the lower part of the abdomen…" he said pointing to the area in question. "Injury caused by his seat belt maybe?"

He felt for obvious signs of internal bleeding and felt none. He couldn't rule it out though and would have to keep an eye for signs of increased heart rate. During his examination, he found a couple of broken ribs on the right side and another contusion on the shoulder which at first glance looked dislocated. His left wrist also looked sprained. The ribs, the wrist and shoulder injuries however could wait.

Meanwhile, Grissom had started to groan a little more. He was now clearly in pain and moving restlessly on the table, looking more and more distressed, incoherently mumbling words they could not make out.

"He's coming to." Stéphane moved the oxygen mask off Grissom's mouth. "Hello, Sir, can you hear me?"

"Argh…"

"Sir, you were in an accident. Can you tell me your name?"

"Gr…m."

"Good. Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"uh…"

"Okay. Not to worry. Do you know where you are?"

"Des…ert Palm?"

"Not quite mate."

"Ar…gh. Call Cat…ne Wil…ws..."

"Sir, sorry, I didn't get that…Listen, we're trying to help you. First, I'm going to have to send you to sleep, okay?"

Stéphane replaced the oxygen mask over Grissom's mouth and turned towards Mary.

"He appears somewhat disorientated which under the circumstances is normal, probably due to the concussion. I hope his head trauma does not hide anything more serious," he added noticing some bleeding coming from the left ear. "Possible swelling of the brain or skull fracture. Shame we don't have a scanner to do a CT scan here."

Mary nodded. "Where do you want to start?"

"Can you help me tie the gown, the mask and put the gloves on please?"

"Sure." She moved round him to do as bid.

"I'll put an IV line in and prepare some fluid and morphine to give him for the pain and while we wait for it to do its magic, I'll take a look at the head wound. Meanwhile, can you hook up the heart monitor and check his blood pressure?"

"His pressure is 80/50."

"A bit low but we don't know how fit he was to begin with."

On taking the blood-soaked dressing off Grissom's head, Stéphane noticed that the laceration was deep but clean and straight. The blood around the cut had started to clot, so he decided that as the bleeding had stopped he would deal with it later and asked Mary to clean it and re-dress it.

Stéphane wiped a few beads of perspiration that had gathered on his forehead. "Now, I'll…"

"Beep, beep, beeeep."

"Shit! Come on, mate. We're only getting started here… Cardiac arrest. Starting chest compressions. One… two… three… Mary, pass me the portable defibrillator, over there, on the shelf…six…"

"I've never used one before."

"That's okay…eight…nine…Take over the compressions."

Mary quickly did as instructed and resumed CPR.

"Okay. Charging. 250 joules…clear"

"…."

"And again, 300 joules…clear"

"Sinus rhythm. He's back" said Mary.

"Shit! That was _too_ close."

Stéphane took a moment to catch his breath.

"Okay, the morphine should have kicked in by now. First, I'm going to isolate the cause of blood loss, starting with the wound on his left leg. Mary, can you fetch a unit of blood and start transfusing?"

"Shouldn't you cross match the blood first?" Mary asked hesitantly while finishing bandaging Grissom's head.

"Normally yes. But as we don't have a blood bank at our disposal and we don't know his blood type anyway, the risk of a reaction to the transfusion is less than the risk of death, so in an emergency, type O negative blood can be given."

The sun had long set over the Ranger Station but Mary and Stéphane weren't showing any signs of slowing down. Mary watched the heart monitor, checked Grissom's blood pressure at regular intervals as well as replacing the loss of blood – they would need five units in total.

Stéphane got working on removing the piece of metal that had lodged itself into Grissom's thigh. The metal blade of the scalpel shone in the harsh light as he deftly extracted the debris. The shrapnel-like object had cut through the muscle nicking the femoral artery but had fortunately served as a plug – hence the heavy blood loss but nothing worse.

The repair was straightforward and with no apparent complications. And after suturing the wound, Stéphane reduced both fractures in the lower legs and cast them in plaster.

To his relief, Grissom's blood pressure stabilised somewhat after that, hopefully an indication that there was no internal bleeding.

Afterwards, he got to work on the dislocated shoulder and finally on the laceration on his head. There was nothing he could do for the concussion or the abdominal injury at this time; they would just have to monitor him very closely for the next few hours.

"I'll start to clean all this mess up," Mary said as Stéphane was finally ripping his gown, mask and gloves off, slowly making his way towards the sink, exhaustion etched on his face.

Mary stood staring at all the discarded stuff on the floor as well as the pile of bloodied swabs and the pool of dark blood that had come to gather by her feet.

"No, Mary, you've done enough already. We can take care of this in the morning. When we've settled him for the night, all I want is some food and a few hours' sleep. I'm knackered!"

Mary nodded. "How is he doing?"

"He's not out of the woods yet. It depends on a lot of factors…At the moment, my main worries are the risk of infection and whether he suffered any major head trauma. The rest should heal in time. We'll know more tomorrow, that is if he makes it through the night. We can't do any more for him now."

Mary's brow knotted with concern. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Did I go too far with Grissom's medical treatment? Apologies if it got too technical and medical, I tried to keep it as simple as possible while also keeping it realistic but I got carried away! Also, I don't have a medical background, apart from watching ER, so everything will not be 100% accurate. Let me know, though, if I inadvertently killed Grissom while trying to save him!

And let me know how I'm doing!


	7. Chapter 7

Stéphane and Mary brought the old hospital metal bed from the next room and manoeuvred Grissom onto it carefully but with great difficulty. Mary then quickly wheeled the patient back next door where she could start to settle him for the long night ahead.

She didn't want to be in the treatment room any longer than necessary. She didn't know how she had managed to stay in there for so many hours without wavering. She wasn't cut out for emergency medicine and that was one of the reasons why she had left nursing in the first place, that and maybe more importantly, the fact that despite being a nurse, she had been unable to help her husband when he had suddenly died. There was nothing she could have done to save him but she blamed herself for his death anyway. As well as leaving nursing, she had left England for good.

Once Mary had positioned the monitors and IV drip by the bed, Stéphane administered some penicillin to help Grissom fight the infection that would no doubt come next. His temperature had been rising steadily but hadn't reached worrying heights yet.

"I'm going to get some food. Do you want anything?" asked Stéphane.

"No, thanks. I think… I'll sit with him for a while…see that he's settled" Mary replied with a wan smile, propping Grissom's head up with a pillow.

"At least, let me get you the comfy chair from Eric's office."

Mary simply nodded, not taking her eyes off Grissom. She loosely arranged a cotton sheet over the lower half of his body up to his midriff and spread the mosquito netting over the bed.

The bed had been wheeled in the middle of the back wall, beside a small bedside cabinet where Mary had placed Grissom's few belongings. There was a sink with a mirror over it in the corner of the room, separated from view by an old paper screen depicting a lush green forest. The room was sparsely furnished and apart from the occasional overnight stay they hadn't had many guests to warrant its use.

A cool, refreshing breeze was gently blowing through the open window, colder air slowly recycled by the gently rotating overhead ceiling fan. It was a great improvement on the stifling heat of the previous afternoon.

Mary had dimmed the lights in an attempt to keep the insects out but also out of reverence to her recovering guest and apart from the glow of the heart monitor, the only light illuminating the room was the moon's.

Mary could hear the low regular beeping of the machine telling her that so far everything was in order. She had checked and double-checked that she had hooked up the antibiotic to the IV line properly. Grissom was sleeping soundly now but once the anaesthetic effect of the morphine had worn out, God only knew what she would have to deal with and what kind of pain Grissom would experience.

After a while, she noticed a fine mist of sweat beading on his forehead, the tuffs of curly grey hair sticking out of the bandage now very damp. She went to fetch a bowl that she filled with cool water, _not too cold_ she had reminded herself, and placed it on the bedside cabinet. She carefully dipped a cloth in it and applied the cold compress to Grissom's forehead and chest in an attempt to lower his fever.

As she was tending to him, Grissom started his delirious ramblings once more.

"D…r..."

"Sorry?"

"Dr…ink" gasped Grissom.

"Ssshhh…Don't talk. You'll only tire yourself out." She filled a glass of water, placed a straw in it and slowly brought it to his lips. "Not too much…there."

After arranging the netting around the bed, Mary sat in the chair at the bedside. There was no way she could leave him alone in this room especially if he was to...

She couldn't bear that thought and once again her gaze drifted to his battered body. His left shoulder was turning a dark shade of purple and his abdomen was sooty-looking with bruises. His head was heavily bandaged as was his torso where his ribs had broken. He looked like he would be a strong man under normal circumstances; a good man. He had a kind face and big soft hands. Mary could only pray to God that he would make it through the night.

From where she was sitting, she caught a glimpse of metal shimmering under the light on the bedside cabinet. She slowly got up to retrieve the gold chain and ring from his belongings, parted the mosquito netting and delicately placed the items in his hand. Grissom instinctively curled his fingers around them, clutching tightly at them as if they were his life line.

"If it's precious enough to have around your neck…" she mused sadly, wondering about the life and the people this man had left behind.

As she was placing the remainder of his clothing inside the cabinet, his passport and a photograph fell out. She looked at the name and picture on the passport. _Dr Gilbert Grissom_.

On the accompanying photograph, she recognised a much younger Sara with a happy smile and sporting much longer hair than she did now. Standing next to her was a clean shaven Grissom. On the back of the picture, it read S. F. 1998 in smudged letters.

Mary sat back down to continue her vigil, lost in thoughts. How was it possible? Had this man been on his way to the centre when the tragedy happened? It appeared that Sara and this Dr Grissom knew each other. _He doesn't look old enough to be her father, I wonder if…_ she thought sadly, shaking her head.

She herself had met Sara for the first time three weeks earlier and they had struck up a friendship right away, finding that they were two of only four women based in or around the centre. When she looked at Sara, Mary saw herself only twenty years or so younger. Even though she had noticed a sad far-away look to Sara on occasion, she had been struck by the younger woman's kindness and cheerfulness. She had been able to tell though that it was only a front, a façade and that behind her soft smile, she hid both her vulnerability and a heavy weight that she carried in her heart. Sara could maybe fool most people into thinking that everything was fine but Mary had recognised the signs that pointed to the contrary straight away.

From what she had gathered from her few short chats with the younger girl, Sara had only planned to visit and trek around the Park. When she had got talking to Eric at the research centre and was told that they could do with the help of a photographer, she had jumped at the chance of staying a while longer, saying that she had nowhere pressing to go to.

Mary wasn't exactly sure when Sara was due back to base from her latest study but it was important that she found out in the morning and got in touch with her.

Time was of the essence.

Hours passed without much change; the room was slowly getting lighter, it wouldn't be much longer until the sun would peek out from the horizon bringing with it a new dawn; she would speak to Eric then to give him Grissom's passport and ask him to get in touch with Sara.

She only meant to shut her eyes for a minute but soon fell into a very welcome and deserved sleep, the first moment of respite she had had since this whole tragedy had unfolded.

She never noticed that Grissom was growing more and more agitated; that he was squirming about the bed as much as his restricted movement allowed him to and that he had started groaning and mumbling incomprehensively to himself into the oxygen mask…

"Argh..."

_"We wake up one day and realize that for fifty years we haven't really lived at all. But then, all of a sudden…we get a second chance and we have a decision to make…showed you a wonderful life…you are nobody till somebody loves you…and you were lost…to the desert where you knew we wouldn't find you…and then…the way you killed Sara…tell me where Sara is…they tried to re-stuff her but didn't know how, and it was a wail as she died…"_

"No...No..."

As Grissom's fever-induced nightmare intensified so did his moaning and whimpering. He was almost grunting now, so anguished and tormented that his head which had restlessly been moving from side to side had slowly dug a hole in the pillow.

"…_m_y _entire life with ghosts…afraid I'll self-destruct…there to see it happen…worst day of their lives…lost a family member, somebody they loved…a piece of their heart is gone and will never be replaced…after so many years, she wasn't coming back to him…relationship in stasis withers…he needed her to leave him…not making a decision was making a decision…beyond my control…don't have to worry about me…honestly, it's better this way…"_

"No...no... Sara…don't leave…"

The next thing Mary knew Stéphane was barging past her, his cursing startling her out of her slumber.

"Shit, Mary! He's burning up!"

She felt a rush of adrenaline that made her heart thunder in her throat. Her mouth went dry. She clung to the armrest of the chair and closed her eyes, frozen. In her mind, the moment was being played out once again; the moment when her husband had died. That is when she knew she couldn't be a nurse any more.

And it was happening all over again.

"Mary! For God's sake…" Stéphane couldn't hide the desperation from his voice as he was checking Grissom's vitals. "I need your help, we need to bring his fever down! Get me some antibiotic, stat, and some damp cloths to lower his core temperature."

After fetching what was required, as if on autopilot, Mary began the task of putting the damp cloths on Grissom's forehead, under the arms and in the groin area.

"I'm sorry, Stéphane" Mary whispered after a while. "I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to fall asleep…I..."

"No, I'm sorry, Mary" Stéphane cut in. "I shouldn't have lost my temper. You are tired, that's understandable. The risks of him developing an infection were high and I should have monitored him better." He gave her a reassuring smile. "We're doing what we can for him now" he continued. "Look, his temperature is coming down already. The antibiotic must be helping. Keep applying the cool compress."

A couple of hours passed and to Mary's relief, Grissom's temperature was once more under control. His breathing and heart rate had stabilised and he was sleeping fitfully.

And that's when Eric stopped by to get an update on how their patient was doing. He was expecting the arrival of the Search and Rescue team imminently and Mary took this opportunity to show him Grissom's passport.

"If I'm right, I think this is the guy who got in touch with me about a week ago," Eric explained thumbing through the pages of the passport. "He's an American entomologist, fairly renowned in his field, I think. I don't recall the exact details… but he sounded so keen when he volunteered! I was only expecting him in two days' time though…" He let out a long sigh. "I guess I'll need to notify the Authorities and the US Embassy in San Jose…"

He was interrupted by the low thumping of the rotor blades of two helicopters approaching the Ranger Station. Eric quickly made his way outside and Mary moved to the window to watch the helicopters land. The men jumped out and swiftly unloaded their equipment, disrupting the morning's tranquillity.

Mary left her vantage point to check on Grissom. The IV antibiotic was keeping the fever down and his blood pressure was good. Mary stood by the bed watching him, wondering about his relationship with Sara.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Thank you for the support and words of encouragement in your reviews. Your comments are greatly appreciated.

Some dialogue was borrowed from episodes 412 'Butterflied', 724 'Living Doll', 807 'Good Bye and Good Luck', 901 'For Warrick', 902 'The Happy Place' and 905 'Leave Out All The Rest' in case you wondered, so obviously wasn't mine.

How did the dream work? I had a few issues with it! And that_ song_…gives me the chills every time!


	8. Chapter 8

Las Vegas, Nevada. Brass's office at PD.

"_And finally, we have some breaking news. According to our sources, it would appear that yesterday afternoon a small aircraft crashed in the Corcovado National Park area in the south of Costa Rica. The Air Costa Rica Flight 473 commuter plane which was flying its daily route from San Jose to Puerto Jiménes ran into difficulty an hour into the ninety minute flight. The aircraft was carrying sixteen passengers and three crew members – two pilots and a flight attendant and from what we understand, at this moment in time, the local search and rescue team has only found one survivor…"_

"What the hell…?"

Brass looked up from the latest statistics on emergency response times sprawled on his desk that he had been perusing, his attention suddenly drawn to the news and images on the TV screen. The volume of the TV had been set on low, the way Brass liked it when he had nothing to do but crunch meaningless figures or paperwork. He carelessly swung his feet off his desk and reached for the remote control to turn the sound up.

"_It has been confirmed by the American Authorities in Costa Rica that local man, Dr Gilbert Grissom…"_

"Holy shit!"

"…_ex-nightshift Supervisor with the Las Vegas Criminalistics branch of the Police Department has escaped with his life. The cause of the accident is unclear but we are told that the Costa Rica Air Investigation Unit are on the scene attempting to recover the flight data recorder. We will keep you updated as and when we hear. This was Paula Francis reporting for…" _

Brass clicked the news off, staring at the blank screen with a bewildered, perplexed expression wondering whether he had heard correctly. He frantically searched for his cell phone on the desk and remembering that he had left it in his jacket pocket that hung off the back of the chair, he fumbled for it and quickly speed-dialled a very familiar number.

"Willows." barked Catherine from the other end.

"Catherine? It's Jim…"

"Jim?" She cut in, not giving him a chance to talk. "Oh, no, no, Jim. I'm off the clock. Isn't there anyone else to take this call, preferably someone from swing?"

"Huh? No…listen, Catherine. This call's not work related. Have you seen the news?"

"Have I seen the news? No, Jim. When I'm off, I try to stay away from…What's up? You sound…a bit off." she asked suddenly realising that Jim did not sound his normal self.

"Have you heard from Grissom recently?" He didn't bother to wait for a reply. "Something's happened." Brass said more calmly.

"What? to Grissom? He's gone to…"

"Costa Rica?"

"How do you know? He only left…"

"Damn it, Catherine! You knew about this trip?" Brass interrupted impatiently.

She nodded into the phone and sighed. "Yeah. He rang me a few days ago and asked if I could watch Hank and the house while he was away. Listen Jim, I don't get why..."

"He's had an accident. The pl…"

"An accident?"

"From what I understood from the news, the plane he was travelling in crashed sowhere in the jungle - trust him to find the most secluded spot! - but he's still alive…" he added quickly on hearing her gasp on the line.

"What? But when I saw him, he was so happy…God Jim, he's gone to find Sara…How badly hurt is he?" she asked, clearly shaken.

"Not sure at this point. Jesus! Do you know how we can get a hold of Sara there?"

"No and I don't think he knew himself where she was. But…hang on a sec…yes, I've got it here." She exclaimed holding up a small piece of paper. "He left me the address of the Biological Research Centre he was headed to."

She read out the Spanish address with some difficulty while Brass jotted it down in his note book.

"Jim, what do we do?"

"What _can_ we do?" Brass let out a long sigh. "Let me…contact the Embassy in Costa Rica and see what I can find out."

"Okay, I'll make my way into PD now."

"There's no need, Catherine. We can't do anything from our end. Try not to worry till we have all the facts."

"Easier said…" Catherine sighed. "Thanks, Jim. I feel so…"

"Powerless? Yeah, me too."

With that, Brass rang off. "Damn it Gil!" He banged his fist on the desk, shaking his head in disbelief. "What have you got yourself into now?"

* * *

At long last, Sara and Richard were nearing the periphery of the ranger station and research centre. They had been trekking for a good hour now, carrying on their backs a fair amount of very heavy and cumbersome material. The midday sun had been beating down on them hard and the only thing that was keeping Sara going at this stage was the thought of taking a very long cool refreshing shower.

Richard was ambling along however, quite content on taking his time, happily bouncing some ideas off Sara that he had about the article he was writing for The Conservation Society about the extinction of many species of turtles. Sara, for her part, had taken some amazing night-time photographs which she was looking forward to downloading onto the laptop and manipulating. They would make a nice addition to Richard's article.

On seeing Pablo walk towards them as they entered the camp, Sara stopped talking to Richard and waved and smiled at Pablo. The ranger station seemed busier than usual and they assumed that the commotion was probably due to the plane crash they had heard about.

Sara put down the heavy rucksack she had been lugging back from the coast. "Hola Pablo." She greeted him with a smile, taking her sunglasses off.

"Hello, Sara, Richard." The usually jovial man replied in a much more serious tone than he would normally have used to greet his colleagues, still clearly upset by his and Miguel's unfortunate discovery.

Remembering the reasons for such a change of mood, Richard said rather sombrely. "We heard about the crash… how's the guy you pulled out doing?"

"I'm not too sure; I hear it's still touch-and-go. Stéphane worked on him late into the night" finished Pablo with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Was…he the only one who made it?" asked Sara quietly, squinting into the midday sun, her voice barely above a whisper, her face taking a very serious, sad expression.

"Afraid so. He's one lucky man…I tell you. From what Mary told me, Stéphane did everything he could…Lucky to be alive."

Sara nodded her head in understanding. "It just wasn't his time to die."

For she understood all too well what it was like not to die.

And she also remembered what it was like to come across a crash site, the devastation and suffering all around. Not even mentioning the ghastly discovery of the casualties. She gave Pablo what she hoped was a sympathetic smile.

She had thought that she would be safe from all that when she had left Las Vegas and the US. She had seen far too much death and destruction to last her a lifetime. It seemed however that she hadn't gone far enough, that she hadn't put enough distance between her and that past.

Pablo seemed to ponder Sara's word for a while and slowly nodded his agreement before continuing talking. "Eric tells me that he thinks the guy was on his way here, to the research centre, a new volunteer, I think. An American entomologist – is that how you pronounce it?" he asked looking towards Richard who nodded his head in acquiescence. "He was due to arrive soon to do some work on..."

_An American entomologist? _

Sara's whole body gave an involuntary shudder as if the sun had suddenly been obscured by a cloud. All of a sudden, she felt very, very cold.

_No. It can't be. Surely, there are lots of American entomologists out here doing research. _

Sara's sun-tanned face visibly paled at the mere possibility that it could be Grissom lying there injured.

_No, no, it can't be._

She began to shake her head very slowly from side to side as if this simple motion could disperse the awful thoughts entering her mind. Her eyes had glazed over and she stood unsteady on her feet, blindly staring at Richard.

"It can't be him" she mumbled out loud.

Yet, she needed to know. She had to know. She had to be sure.

"Sara, are you all right?" asked a concerned Richard on noticing the sudden change in her mood and expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Not hearing that Richard had spoken to her, she turned her gaze to address Pablo. "Do you know his name?" Her words caught in her throat and she had to raise her voice to make herself heard when she anxiously demanded for the second time. "Pablo, what's the man's name?"

"Grisham" he replied quickly, startled by the panic in Sara's voice. "No, no, wait. Not Grisham." He thought for a second. "Eric said the man's called Grissom. Lucky to be alive, too."

But Sara didn't get to hear his last comment. She had already taken off at full speed towards the infirmary, not hearing the concerned voices of the people calling after her.

Sara ran to the infirmary as fast as her legs could take her. When she got there, she stopped abruptly, rooted to the spot, breathless, unable to cross the threshold. If she didn't go in maybe her worst fears wouldn't come true.

"I'm being silly" she said out loud, shaking her head. "It can't be him."

But something was nagging at her, drawing her inside.

Part of her wanted to believe that it wasn't him lying in there, that it couldn't be him, that he was safe in Las Vegas working a scene or at the lab puzzling over some evidence. Or maybe he was at home reading or gone out for a walk with Hank.

Or maybe she was going to wake up soon from a horrible nightmare. Yes, this is what it was – another one of her nightmares.

This whole situation just had to be a mistake.

Deep down however she knew. She could feel it in her heart.

How many entomologists called Grissom could there be?

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity but was merely a few seconds, she mustered enough courage to turn the handle and go into the infirmary. She took a left past the treatment room and froze at the injured man's open door, as though transfixed.

She never noticed Mary washing her hands at the sink in the corner of the room. All she saw was the blurry outline of a body lying on a bed, hooked up to a machine. It felt as if this whole thing was happening to someone else or in a film. _That's not him_, she thought fruitlessly. It was like some out-of-body experience occurring in slow motion.

She took a few shy steps closer towards the bed, one arm tentatively outstretching towards Grissom.

And then she saw his face, the face of the man she loved and had loved for as long as she could remember.

"Oh God, Gil!" she gasped, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

Belatedly, the adrenaline surging through her system crested like a wave and she began to shake. She was blinking at him uncertainly, unable to keep the tears that had been threatening to spill from running down her cheeks**, **blurring her vision. She found herself weeping audibly from shock, from fear, from relief.

Shock because this was the last thing she had ever expected. Ever. How could it have happened? When all this time she thought that by leaving she had been protecting him.

Fear because he was lying there helpless, broken, critically wounded. Dare she think it – at death's door?

And relief because it hit her then that she could have been looking at his corpse, his dead body instead of his breathing one.

Sara swayed on her feet unsteadily. She looked about to faint. "I need to sit down."

Mary brought the chair nearer so Sara could sit on it.

She sat down, sobbing, staring numbly at the black and blue body hooked up to the monitor, at his broken legs, and at his bandaged head. He looked so much worse than he had done the previous night.

"Sara, I am _so_ sorry. I meant to warn you."

"Mary, how could you have known?" she said, her voice close to a whisper.

She felt more tears rise as she got up to trace the outline of his jaw with a trembling finger. She took his hand in hers and found the chain he was holding on to. She just stood there holding him, letting the tears fall freely. He felt so hot to the touch and looked so vulnerable.

Instinctively, Grissom curled his fingers in hers, squeezing them weakly. "Sa…ra" he murmured through his oxygen mask. He was still heavily sedated, in a semi-conscious state. His eyes were tightly closed.

She bent down closer to his face. "Gil, I'm here. Don't try to talk."

"Here? You … back?"

"From the coast? Yeah, we finished early…"

"In … Vegas?" finished Grissom feebly. Speaking had weakened him and he fell once more under the influence of the morphine.

After a while spent stood by the bed silently watching Grissom still holding his hand, Sara slowly turned towards Mary. "Did you put the ring in his hand?"

Mary nodded. "He was wearing it on a chain around his neck when we found him…" she hesitated and decided not to tell Sara anymore at this stage. "It seemed appropriate."

"No, no, you did the right thing. I don't suppose he'll ever get to wear it now…" she mused sadly, wiping roughly the wetness from her cheeks with the back of her thumbs.

Mary finished changing the IV fluids without another word on the subject. She wasn't sure that last comment had been meant for her. She could see how upset Sara was and didn't know her well enough to pry.

* * *

Tbc.

So, the moment some of you have been eagerly waiting for! How did you like Sara's entrance? I hope I didn't disappoint your expectations…your comments are as always greatly appreciated...


	9. Chapter 9

Las Vegas, Nevada.

On hearing the captain's raised fraught voice, Detective Vartann stopped dead in his tracks, hovering just outside Brass's office, case folder in hand. The door had been left slightly ajar and from where he stood, he could hear that whatever had the gruff detective so irate wasn't worth interrupting. He swayed uncertainly on his feet wondering whether it would be best to come back at a better time when Brass opened the door wider and waved him in. Wisely, the younger detective did as bid and Brass motioned for him to sit down, giving him no option but to listen in to his one-sided conversation.

"Damn it, Catherine!" Brass barked into the phone, pacing as he talked. "The Embassy in Costa Rica won't tell me anything except what we already know…that he's in some Godforsaken ranger station in the middle of nowhere…"

"Yeah, yeah, even after I said who I was. I don't have much kudos out there in Costa Rica, it would seem…" Brass gave Vartann a facial shrug. "Trust the good doctor to find the most remote, secluded spot to crash in…"

"Sorry, I know, that wasn't called for…Yeah, well, if it wasn't so damn tragic, I'd laugh at the irony." He paused to catch his breath. "Any luck on locating Sara?"

"She was always good on covering her tracks."

"Fine. Well, since there's nothing we can do from here, I've spoken to our good old under-sheriff and he agreed to let me book seven days' vacation. I also made contact with an attaché at the Embassy in San Jose …"

"I know." Brass granted with a smile. "Got myself an open return on the flight from Denver to San Jose tomorrow."

"I know you would. But Grissom'll be easier to track down on my own."

"I hope it's long enough too, Ecklie said he'd stretch it to ten days if needed…"

"Yeah, well, he had no choice. I'm due a trip abroad anyway…" he added light-heartedly, his tone softening somewhat by that stage.

"Sure, I'll keep you informed…if I can get a connection, that is…"

"All right…I'll call you. In the meantime, find Sara."

"Yeah, yeah, I will. Bye." Brass ended the call and promptly turned toward Vartann, unholstering his gun. "Tony, what can I do for you?" he asked, placing his gun in the lockable drawer of his desk. "Make it quick because…"

* * *

Sara had only been at Grissom's side for a few minutes when Stéphane strode in, heading straight for the monitors to check on his patient. "Hi, Sara. You're back early, you got all the shots you needed for the article?"

"Huh? Yeah, we got some good ones. I…How is he doing?" she whispered, her voice breaking, once more close to tears.

"As best as can be expected under the circumstances…you know I can't really get into any more details with you." Stéphane said looking up at her for the first time and noticing her tear-streaked face he added, "Sara, are you all right?"

"I'm…can I talk to you outside for a minute?" she replied.

"Sure."

Sara quietly shut the door behind them. "Stéphane, I _need_ to know how badly hurt he is…" Tears were welling up again and she willed them not to fall.

Stéphane noticed her distress and grew concerned. "What is it Sara? Do you know this man?"

She nodded her head slowly. "I'm his…" What could she say? Friend? Family? None of it sounded right. So, instead, she settled for, "his…next of kin."

"You are?" he asked, pointing to a nearby wooden stool for her to sit on.

She shook her head, declining his kind and thoughtful offer. "Yeah…It's complicated. It's always been complicated…Please, tell me."

"Okay." He conceded with a sad smile, clearly perplexed. "It's still touch-and-go. When he got to me, he'd already lost a lot of blood and he went into shock. His heart stopped…"

"Oh my god!"

"…but we got it going quickly again. I don't think that will have caused any permanent damage. He wasn't gone long enough." he added belatedly with a smile, attempting to make eye-contact with Sara. "Now, both his temperature and blood pressure have stabilised, so that's good. His urine output is good and clear as we've got the infection under control and there are no signs of internal bleeding either. His broken bones will heal in time; the fracture on the left leg will take longer and might leave him with a slight limp. He'll obviously need some physio at some point…"

"But…" she interrupted impatiently; there was bound to be a 'but'.

"Well, we're managing the pain with morphine and one of the side-effect is to make the patient drowsy so he hasn't fully regained consciousness yet and I still haven't been able to establish the extent of his head trauma – we don't have access to a scanner here…" he paused so she could take it all in.

When she nodded for him to carry on, visibly shell-shocked, he continued. "And we don't know whether his back is just badly bruised or if it's more serious…" he stopped. There was something else troubling him. "Has he appeared particularly confused or disoriented to you?"

"Hum…" She shook her head, whether to answer his query in the negative or in a way to shake herself out of the haze that had enveloped her, she couldn't be certain. After a while however she managed to utter, "I wasn't with him that long…"

"When he was first brought in" Stéphane continued, "he mentioned Desert Palm. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Sure." _That's easier_, she thought. _At last_ _something_ _I know the answer to._ "It's the name of the hospital where we…where he lives in Vegas."

"Okay. Well, maybe, it's nothing. What I'm going to do is start to wean him off the morphine a little and when he's a bit more awake, I'll do some basic tests…"

"Should we arrange for him to be air-lifted to a hospital? They'd be able to do a CT scan and an MRI there."

"Aside from the cost, in my opinion, he's not stable enough yet for the ride in the chopper. Give it a few more days Sara, see how he's doing as regards his head and back injuries and then we'll think about it."

She nodded absent-mindedly, her mind focused on returning to Grissom's side.

"Sara," Stéphane put his hand on her shoulder, "believe me, I'm doing everything I can for him."

"Thank you. I realise how much you've done." She said in a low voice. "He's…lucky to be alive."

Mary chose that time to open the door. "Sara! He's asking after you."

Sara rushed back in. Grissom was rambling incomprehensibly, his head restless on the pillow.

"Gil, I'm here." She spoke softly, almost a whisper, very close to his ear.

"Sara…please…" Grissom groaned.

"Shhh…"

"Don't…leave me…again."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "I…won't. I'm staying right here. I promise. Now, rest." She said stroking the side of his face in reassurance.

After managing to convince Mary into taking a well-deserved rest, she found herself alone with Grissom for the first time. For the first time in six long months. But sadly, this wasn't the kind of reunion she had in mind for the two of them when she allowed herself the fantasy.

She hesitantly lifted one corner of the sheet to take a look at the whole of his body. She winced and gasped when she saw the catheter, his two legs cast in plaster and the full extent of the rest of his injuries; the very distinctive bruise pattern on his abdomen had turned a very deep shade of black and purple. She frowned slightly, pondering its origin and then slowly nodded her head on realisation. _Lap belt from the plane._

After a while, she took the bowl from the bedside cabinet and went to change the water. She found a flannel and started to sponge him clean, slowly, meticulously, avoiding touching the bruised skin and taking her time in order not to hurt him. All the while she spoke words which she hoped would soothe him, telling him all about the wonders she had seen and the sea turtles she had been observing.

If it had been under different circumstances, she might have felt some pleasure in her task. As it was, she only felt numb.

There was one more thing she could do for him, even in his state. She smiled sadly. She had only ever done it once before and the occasion had been so different then.

She looked on the shelves by the sink and found what she needed – an old razor and some soap. His beard looked newly trimmed but had some dirt and crusted blood still engrained in it. Grissom was always immaculately groomed and took pride in how he looked even if his style was somewhat old-fashioned and Sara could not bear to see him dirty.

She remembered very vividly the last time – the only time, she had shaved his beard and the happy memories she had of that night that she still carried with her. They were still happy then, blissfully unaware, content in their love for each other.

She slowly lifted the razor with shaky fingers and willed them to still. As she proceeded to lather some soap onto his beard, her eyes misted over. Yet, she started shaving all around the oxygen mask, determined to do that for him but she had to give up when her vision blurred completely, under the onslaught of tears spilling onto her cheeks, onto his face and onto his pillow. She broke down, feelings of powerlessness and hopelessness overwhelming her.

She was still holding the razor, weeping when moments later she heard a discreet knock at the door as Mary walked in, holding a cup of tea and a sandwich.

"Oh Sara! My poor girl, you should have asked." Mary rushed to Sara, on the way placing the food and drink on the bedside table. "Let me take that off you…" Mary said smiling and taking the razor off her.

"Oh Mary!" cried Sara.

Mary put the razor down on the bed and took Sara in her arms, holding her tightly. Sara leant into Mary's embrace, letting her pain and anguish out. The older woman just rubbed Sara's back gently, patiently and knowingly, as a mother would an inconsolable child who had lost her favourite teddy.

As her crying began to subside, Sara pulled away from Mary somewhat embarrassed by her display of emotion, roughly wiping her face. "I am so sorry…I …"

"Ssshhh, now" whispered Mary, "we all need a shoulder to cry on sometimes. I'm glad I can be there for you."

"I've never had anyone, let alone a stranger, care for me before…well, apart from Gil." Sara said sniffing.

"It's going to be all right, _he_'s going to be all right, you've just got to believe." Mary said sincerely. "Come on, sit yourself down and drink the tea, you need to calm down. You don't want to raise your blood pressure now, do you?" she teased. Mary picked up the razor from the bed. "I'll finish this for you."

"Thank you Mary…I don't know what I'd do..."

"You'd cope." Mary said with a warm smile as she finished shaving Grissom. "We all do."

After a few minutes, Grissom was beardless. "Okay, all done…look, I think I've done quite a good job" she exclaimed, trying to bring a smile to Sara's face. "Doesn't he look better? I've always preferred a clean-shaven man, myself. Less sore." she added, rubbing the back of her hand on her cheek. "He…he's handsome and looks like a very kind man, with a kind face, you know?"

Sara nodded shyly. "He is kind and gentle…the smartest person I've ever known. You should see his eyes, they're…" she smiled, not finishing her sentence unable to find the right words. "You will when he wakes up."

"And he will, don't worry."

"I know…I just can't figure why…never mind…" Sara shook her head. "What happened to the rest of his stuff?" she asked after a while in silence.

"All we've got is what he had on him, in there" Mary said pointing toward the bedside cabinet.

Sara got up and took out the clear plastic bag containing Grissom's bloody possessions. She saw his watch first and his broken glasses and wondered whether he would have thought to bring a spare pair and shook her head reminding herself that these things weren't important at all.

"I'm sorry, I haven't got round to cleaning them yet." Mary interrupted her train of thoughts. "And Eric's got his passport."

"I can't believe he's still got this" Sara whispered looking at the picture of the two of them taken in San Francisco. "We were so young, so much has happened since then."

"Not all bad, I'm sure" mused Mary, noticing Sara's cheerless expression.

"No, not all. Some of it was, though."

Mary noticed that Sara's eyes had darkened at the thought so didn't press the issue.

Sara suddenly looked up from the photo and turned toward Mary, a spark in her eyes. "Mary, I'm really grateful for what you've done for him and for me. I'm glad you cared enough to…" she waved her hand vaguely towards a sleeping Grissom and the bed, words catching in her throat.

"You'd have done the same."

"Gil," she bent down to murmur into his ear. "I'm going to go for a little while but I'm not leaving and I'm not leaving _you_…I promise." She kissed him softly on the temple. "I l…I'll be right back."

"Mary, do you mind staying with him a bit longer, there's something I need to do."

* * *

Tbc.

Thank you to everybody for the awesome reviews. I love hearing from you so you know what to do...it might get me to post sooner again! (you know who you are!)


	10. Chapter 10

"Eric, I need to go to the crash site." Sara didn't pause to knock or for breath on entering Eric's small office.

Startled out of his reading, Eric took off his glasses and looked up at Sara. "Why ever would you want to do such a thing?"

"I've just got to…go and see for myself. I _need _to go. I…"

"Sara, there's nothing but destruction there. Trust me, you don't want to see all that. And it's getting late anyway," he said turning his gaze to the window, "it'll be too dark for us to make it back safely."

"All the more reasons to go now. Listen Eric, I'm going regardless, whether you help me or not. Just show me on the map where to go and I'll figure the rest out." Sara's mind was set.

"The Rescue Team won't have cleared the bodies yet, Sara. It's not something you should see. Come on, it's not a good idea…"

Sara held her hand up to interrupt him. "I've already seen my fair share of dead bodies, Eric, one more scene won't make a difference."

"What do you mean 'scene'?" he asked, puzzled.

"I used to be a…crime scene investigator back in the States and believe me I've seen it all. I won't let it affect me."

Eric sighed and decided to try a different approach. Maybe if he appealed to her better judgement, she might reconsider her plans.

"Is it wise considering…"

Sara shot him such a dark, almost menacing look that clearly said 'don't even go there' that Eric let his question hang in mid-air. He could see that Sara was standing her ground, determined and he admitted defeat. "Fine, I'll tell you where it is but I'm coming with you. No arguing."

"Fine, I'll go and get my stuff."

"What? You want to go _now_?" asked a surprised Eric, getting to his feet.

"Yeah, Mary's watching Grissom. I want to be back before he wakes up. I'll meet you here in ten." She left his office without another word, leaving him very perplexed.

* * *

Some birds flew past as she stood beside a stream checking the map. She was breathing hard. Eric was lagging a little behind Sara; her progress seemed to be fuelled by sheer will-power alone and he was struggling to keep up, heavy with fatigue.

She had to be exhausted.

Finding which way to go, she began to run in that direction, through a small clearing, getting steadily closer to the crash site.

"Slow down Sara, I'm not as young as you and besides that crash site isn't going anywhere" Eric called out.

But Sara kept going, adrenaline pumping through her system and never slowed down.

And as suddenly as she had barged into his office a mere forty-five minutes earlier, Eric watched Sara stop dead in her tracks, her attention caught. There was nothing for them to see other than the darkness and almost eerie stillness of the lush vegetation of the jungle all around.

Sara looked left then right and then straight ahead again. She couldn't see anything but yet she knew; she could sense what was behind the wall of tree trunks and rows of bushes. She resumed her walking but at a much slower pace this time, hesitant about her next move for the first time.

And then she heard.

She heard the sound of voices speaking Spanish. Some were talking while others were calling out, shouting. And she heard the on/off cacophony of the machines that were lifting, grinding or cutting through the mangled metal.

Then she smelt.

She smelt the smell of death. She smelt its unmistakable sickly-sweet stench even before she saw the bodies. The smell of decaying flesh was such an unforgettable and familiar scent to her, ripe decomposition brought on so rapidly as a result of the heat and humidity of the jungle – perfect conditions Grissom would most probably say excitedly, that she never even flinched.

And taking a few more cautious steps, she finally saw.

She saw the wreck of the main body of the plane and the men working on clearing the debris, machines in hand. She saw them lift lifeless bodies in black plastic bags and line them up away from the main scene. Somehow she was reminded of the Mojave express bus crash on the I-15 all those years ago but this time on a much, much grander scale.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her face whitened and her eyes looked unblinkingly, unflinchingly at the sight before her. And then she tore her gaze away, lips pursing with disgust as revulsion and rage flowed through her.

"Sara" Eric gently said, coming to her side.

Her gaze turned to his and then turned away abruptly as she brought her hand in front of her mouth and was violently sick in the bushes.

It wasn't the pungent stench of the already rotting bodies, not even the sight of the devastation and destruction all around that got to her. She was used to that. She could handle that. What got to her was the thought that it could have been Grissom lying there dead in one of the black plastic bags, that this plane could have been Grissom's coffin and this crash site his grave.

She retched until there wasn't anything left to bring up but the rising bile. She leant heavily against a nearby tree brushing her tears away and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in one swift movement while trying to catch her breath.

Eric's eyes met hers and he smiled, just a little to be supportive. "Are you all right?"

She looked away embarrassed that Eric could have glimpsed a weakness. "I'm fine" she replied rather curtly.

"Why are we here Sara?" He got out a water bottle from the bag he was carrying and held it out to her.

She swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded toward the plane. "His stuff" she whispered hoarsely grabbing the bottle off him, taking a swig of water and spitting it out. "Do you think they've found it?"

"His stuff?" he asked incredulous, shouting over the noise of the machines that had started up again. "Is that why you _needed _to come here?"

"Huh?" Then she nodded numbly. "It matters to me. It's…" Her voice trailed off.

Eric shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, let's go and ask the S and R team leader but I tell you, I'm not staying any longer than we need to. I've had enough of this place."

"Thanks for coming with me, Eric. I appreciate it."

After locating the man in charge and explaining the situation, they were shown an area away from the main site where the recovered luggage had been haphazardly piled. They were told that only the hand-luggage from the over-head compartments of the aircraft had been found, the rest in the hold was still somewhere in the wreck, mangled in the metal and had most probably been destroyed on impact.

Sara ran to the pile of bags and frantically searched for Grissom's.

_It's not there_, she thought.

She looked through the pile again but still could not see any bag she recognised until she caught a glimpse of Grissom's name scrawled on the tag of an old faded tan rucksack at the bottom of the pile. She let out the long deep sigh she didn't know she had been holding and cautiously pulled it out. It was amazingly still intact, having been protected by the confines of the over-head compartment.

She clutched at the bag tightly, as if she had just rescued her most treasured possession; refusing to relinquish her hold of it even when Eric kindly offered to carry it for her. She started her slow return back to the centre in silence, head bowed and without a backward glance toward the crash site.

* * *

"Sa…ra?"

Grissom woke up with a start, ripping off the oxygen mask from his face. His breathing was rapid, shallow and ineffectual. He attempted to open his eyes but the harsh light made it impossible. He weakly tried to sit up but found that he couldn't. He winced and groaned at the sharp throbbing in his head and at the even worse pain radiating from his back all the way down his legs.

He had never felt such searing, blinding pain in the whole of his life.

"Sara?" he wheezed, glancing uncertainly at his surroundings. "This isn't Desert Palm. Where am I?" His voice started to rise in fear, in panic. "Sara?"

On hearing his distress Mary, who had just stepped next door to talk to Stéphane, rushed back into the room.

"Dr Grissom, please calm down. Lie back down and put the oxygen mask back on…please. You're making yourself worse!"

He looked lost, startled like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes only reflected his fear and confusion.

Mary continued in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. "If you promise to keep the mask on, I'll go and fetch the doctor."

Grissom complied, not having any strength to argue and Mary quickly made her way to the adjoining room casting Grissom quick worried backward glances.

"Stéphane, Dr Grissom's awake and agitated. He's asking for Sara and he looks in a lot of pain and distress."

"Okay. I need to do some neurological tests on him so no more morphine for a little while I'm afraid. Where _is_ Sara?"

"I don't know, she left a couple of hours ago and has not returned."

"Well, if he's awake, I don't want to wait and prolong his suffering unnecessarily." He hesitated. "I tell you what. You go and see if you can find her and I'll make a start."

Stéphane made his way into the room and went straight to the sink to wash his hands. He started to talk. "Doctor Grissom. My name is Stéphane Mercier. You need to listen carefully and remain calm, okay? I don't want you to raise your blood pressure, understood?"

Grissom managed a weak nod and spoke through the mask. "What's…happened…to me?"

"Hum…you were…Sir, you were involved in a plane crash."

_A plane crash? Oh no! Sara!_

"Please, Dr Grissom, you need to calm down. Don't try to talk. Breathe normally into the mask…that's better." Stéphane said, picking up on Grissom's distress. He waited for Grissom's breathing to even out before continuing. "I need to do some basic checks first, okay? And then I'll explain."

Grissom nodded once, grimacing with pain.

While he began to summarise the extent of Grissom's injuries, Stéphane proceeded to touch his patient's toes to check for blood flow, movement and reflexes. He then shone his small torch light into Grissom's eyes and ears. At first glance, everything appeared fine. Grissom was so engrossed in listening to the doctor's calm, somewhat soothing explanation that he relaxed a little.

"Okay, you're doing very well, Dr Grissom. Do you think you can manage to answer a few easy questions for me?"

Grissom simply blinked his eyes 'yes' as it hurt to move his head.

"Good. Can you give me your full name?"

Yet again, Grissom had to mumble through the mask. "Dr Gilbert Grissom."

"Good. Now, listen. I'm going to take the mask off so I can make out what you're trying to say, okay? You need to breathe normally, slowly but not deeply or it'll hurt, do you understand?" Grissom slowly blinked his eyes and Stéphane removed the mask. "Now, can you tell me your date of birth?"

"August 17th 1956" Grissom said with difficulty.

"Excellent. Place of residence?"

"Las…Vegas."

"Dr Grissom, that's excellent. Now what's the last thing you remember?"

"The lab…huh …working the Haskell case …and leaving…leaving with Hank…Oh! Hank! Who's looking after him…?"

Grissom's speech was laboured; he was struggling to get coherent words out, his frustration obvious. He was desperately trying but failing to remember.

"I don't know, Sir, I'm sorry. Do you remember getting on a plane at all?"

"A plane? No." Grissom started to shake his head but had to close his eyes in an attempt to stop the throbbing, searing pain. "I'm…sorry. My head's pounding…I can't…sorry."

"That's okay, don't worry." The doctor said with a smile. "I'll give you something for the pain in a minute."

"This isn't Desert Palm, is it?" Grissom asked resigned and defeated. "Where…am I?"

"No. You're in a…" Stéphane hesitated not wanting to distress his patient any more than necessary but it was important to determine how much he knew and remembered. "You're in Costa Rica."

"Costa Rica? There must be a mistake. I don't remember…Please, call…LVPD, call 702 -… Damn I can't recall the number! Call Catherine Willows or Jim Brass…"

By this point, Grissom's brain was processing the words a lot faster than his mouth could deliver them. They were more mumblings than anything else and he was forced to stop once again, gasping for air.

"Sir, please you need to stay calm. We need to put the oxygen mask back on you, now." Stéphane interrupted as Grissom was struggling to breathe properly, weakly pushing the oxygen mask away. "The plane you were travelling on…"

"A plane? I don't understand…" Grissom was shaking his head slowly, once again trying to move. "She was here…I _know_ she was here…I felt her…I held her hand…" he collapsed back on the bed, defeated.

And suddenly it dawned on him and he surrendered and stopped struggling.

A single tear ran down the length of his cheek. His eyes took on a hollow and grief-stricken expression. Slowly he looked up towards Stéphane with infinite sadness.

"Sara, was she on…is she…? oh god no…" Grissom gasped.

With this last outburst, the heart monitor started to beep irregularly.

"Please, Sir, let me put the mask on…" Stephane pleaded calmly.

Despite the added oxygen, Grissom's respiratory distress instead of improving seemed to be getting worse.

"Breathe normally, Sir…that's it. It's just a panic attack…you're just hyperventilating."

Simultaneously, they heard a distressed cry.

"Gil" Sara called, dropping the bag she was holding by the door and running into the room.

Grissom slowly turned his head in the direction of the voice. He tried to focus his blurry, hazy gaze on the form standing there.

Sara.

He could see that her eyes had taken that haunted, far-away look they so often took when she was distressed, a look he knew so well.

She walked the few steps separating them, her hand outstretching toward him while he weakly tried to lift his.

He smiled to reassure her but couldn't quite manage it and could only muster a grimace.

"I'm here, I'm fine" she murmured croakily, her lips pursed into a downward smile, reaching out to cup his hand with hers, cradling it. "Ssshhh…you need to relax…" Her voice had the required calming effect.

Stéphane had by then increased the output of oxygen and Grissom was beginning to calm down, his heart rate slowly decreasing back to a more normal rate. He took a few more slow breaths and his eyelids started to feel heavy. He was visibly struggling to stay awake and eventually stopped fighting the tiredness that was engulfing him and settled down.

"I thought you had…died." Grissom breathed into the mask, drained of any strength.

"Ssshhh… Please, let Stéphane take care of you and I'll explain everything later."

Stéphane gave Grissom another shot of morphine, a lower dose this time and because he was so exhausted and weak, he fell under its influence almost immediately. There would be time to talk to Sara the following day.

Sara was still clutching Grissom's hand, hoping against all odds to pass on to him some of her strength.

_Oh Gil! Why on earth did you come all the way here? And how did you even know where to find me?_

* * *

Tbc.

Finally, we're back on! I'm sorry I didn't reply to some of the reviews for the previous chapter but I wasn't able to log in to the site until this morning! So thank you very much for your continued support and words of encouragement and I hope you continue to enjoy the story...let me know...


	11. Chapter 11

"What's wrong with him? What happened before I arrived? Please, tell me." Sara asked Stéphane, with obvious concern in her voice.

"He just had a panic attack, nothing more Sara." Stéphane answered reassuringly, moving around Sara while checking that Grissom was comfortable.

"What brought it on? He's never had them before…"

"Well, that could just be a one-off. I'm more concerned with the answers he provided when I asked him a few basic questions."

"What do you mean?"

Stéphane chose his words carefully. "Well, the good news is that the bruising on his back is starting to subside and consequently, he's getting some feeling and mobility in his legs…"

"And the bad news?"

"Sara, it's not as bad as it's going to sound but I think that…do you want to sit down for this?"

When she shook her head no, he continued. "I think he might be suffering from some sort of amnesia…"

Sara gasped and cut in earnestly, her voice barely audible. "But he knows who he is, who I am…" She never took her eyes off Grissom. She was still cradling his hand.

"Yes but…in my opinion, he seems to have lost his _short-_term memory. When the head suffers a blunt trauma and there's swelling of the brain…"

"We don't know that, he might…"

Stéphane interrupted her. "No, we don't but…please Sara, let me explain…with swelling of the brain, the trauma could have resulted in _some_ memory loss."

Sara tore her anxious gaze from Grissom to give Stéphane her undivided attention.

"Now, from what I've observed, he's got no trouble remembering his personal details and even some patchy detail about events occurring a few days before the crash. However, it appears that he's got no recollection of the events directly preceding the crash."

He paused for breath and then resumed his explanation speaking very slowly. "For instance, he does not recall getting on the plane. He got very distressed when I mentioned that he was in Costa Rica, and he completely lost it when he thought that you were on the plane with him. I had the distinct impression he thought you had died in the crash…"

Sara brought her hand to her stomach as she quickly turned to look at Grissom. "Oh my God!"

"…and it's that last event that brought on the attack."

"What…can we do?" Her voice broke with the emotion.

"About the panic attack? Nothing. As far as the amnesia is concerned, while it's not uncommon with his type of injury to have some form of memory loss I can't say for sure when he will regain his memory or even if he does."

This was too much for Sara to take in. She just stood by the bed, staring at Grissom in disbelief, tears in her eyes.

"Listen Sara." Sara turned her watery gaze to Stéphane as he continued softly. "Sometimes memory returns on its own as soon as the swelling has subsided. Sometimes, it takes longer. His subconscious may be protecting him by suppressing the memory of the trauma. With brain injuries, we're very much in the dark. I'm very sorry the news aren't better but it's still very early days…just give it a bit of time." he finished, giving her a sad smile and a gentle squeeze of the shoulder.

After a while spent trying to focus her mind and process this new information, she turned to observe Grissom who was peacefully resting, looking so relaxed and no longer in pain now that the morphine was acting as a sedative.

She never noticed Stéphane quietly slip out of the room.

She pulled the chair nearer the bed, and collapsed onto it exhausted, staring ahead at the wall, eyes unfocused. It was already very late into the night.

How could it be that only twenty-four hours previously, she had been happily photo-documenting the hatching of sea turtle eggs as she had watched them scuttle into the ocean for the very first time?

She had been so blissfully unaware. But so much had happened since then.

All the drama of the past few hours caught up with her and she suddenly felt very weary, the events taking their toll on her. Sara just sat there, numb, her mind hypnotised by Stéphane's echoing words.

_Just give it a bit more time. _

How much time was she to give _it_? How much time would _it_ take? Had she not given _it_ plenty of time already?

How could it be that her life – their life, had once again taken a turn for the worse? It felt as though every time they were together, it was to feel more pain, more misery.

When was the last time they had truly been happy together? Not just fleeting moments, here and there but actually genuine happiness and contentment.

Not for a very long time.

It was more than she could bear to see him in so much pain – emotional pain as well as physical. She couldn't make any of it go away and what was more, she was convinced that she was the source of most of it.

Unable to think straight, she let out a very long sigh, decision made, tears stinging her eyes. She needed to protect herself and her future. She needed to protect him and keep him safe. She would leave in the morning. There was no other way.

She suddenly got to her feet, lips pursed. "I'm so sorry, Gil, it's all my fault…I can't do this…I'm so sorry."

She turned around without a backward glance and fled the room crashing into Mary on the way out of the infirmary.

"Sara, what's wrong?" Mary called. "Has something happened?"

But Sara just kept on running into the night without responding to Mary's pleas. She went to seek refuge in the only place she could call home, a small sparsely furnished room in a shack in the sleeping quarters of the camp and collapsed noisily onto the bottom bunk-bed. She curled on her side, sobbing into her pillow.

She was glad no one was sharing the room with her at that particular time and especially some stranger who would see her in that state – she felt pathetic, pitiful even, but most importantly ashamed.

She didn't have many possessions with her; most of her belongings had been accumulated during her travels, so packing would only take her a few minutes. If she asked, she was sure that she could catch a lift with one of the rescue teams back to Puerto Jiménes in the morning.

She never realised she was laying in the dark; the only light in the room being the soft glow of the moon.

She never heard Mary knock and come in. All she felt were the shift of the mattress under the older lady's weight as she sat on the edge of the bed and two strong arms enveloping her shoulders as someone hugged her from behind. Mary just held her, making gentle soothing sounds in Sara's hair.

She tried to hold back the tears but was unable to. "I'm no good for him, Mary. I'm a coward."

"I doubt that very much, Sara." Mary said with compassion. "That's not the impression you give me… you're a strong, independent woman who's probably had a rough deal in life and is coping as best she can. You've had a shock; it's understandable that you should be upset."

Mary's gaze was drawn to the photograph stuck on the wall by the headboard. "He came all the way here for you Sara."

"How can you say that?" Sara shifted under Mary's weight and sat up on the bed with some difficulty, bringing her legs under her. "How could he have known I was here…even I didn't know I would stop…I was meant to be back in the States by now and I just couldn't face it. I'm a coward, Mary, pure and simple. When the going gets tough, I just run, that's what I do."

"Nonsense. We all cope the only way we can." Mary assured, putting her hand on Sara's shoulder. "We've all done things we regret Sara but we can't let it affect us in the long run. You've got to move on from the past."

"How can I? It just keeps following me around…" Sara said looking down towards her stomach, avoiding Mary's attempts at eye contact.

"Because you're letting it." Mary cut in, impatiently. "You've got to face your fears, Sara," Mary continued softly, "not run away from them. And I can't imagine that… that poor man lying injured in the infirmary is the cause of those fears."

Sara looked up and wiped her eyes. "He's not." she murmured.

Mary stopped talking for a moment, allowing Sara some time to think before deciding to play her trump card.

"And anyway, regardless of all that, it's clear to anybody who sees you with him that you love him very much…it's very rare to see such a deep, strong connection between two people…"

Sara turned her questioning eyes towards Mary. The older woman smiled knowingly before continuing. "It's your eyes, Sara, they give you away."

"Grissom's always talked about returning to the Rainforest…he could have just decided to take another sabbatical, a break from CSI. Warrick's death hit him very hard and…"

"CSI?" asked Mary. "Isn't that what you said you used to do?"

Sara nodded. "And I couldn't take it any more. Too much has happened Mary, I can't go back to that life."

"Maybe he's come all the way here because he doesn't want you to. Have you considered that possibility?"

"His work's his life, Mary. It's always been that way. It's always come first."

"Maybe." Mary murmured, putting her hand on Sara's shoulder.

Sara's words had been said with such finality in her tone that Mary preferred to drop the issue. God the girl was infuriating. So stubborn. But Mary could see that she had nevertheless started to chip away at Sara's defences and she still had one more hand to play. She would have to tread carefully though or she would lose to young woman's trust.

"Come on; let me take you back to him. You wouldn't want him to wake up and not find you there now, would you?"

Mary got up from the bed, waited for Sara to do the same before linking her arm to hers as they stepped outside into the night.

It was a while before Sara spoke again. "You must think I'm a right mess."

"We all have our cross to bear, sweetheart. Now, be strong and no more tears…"

They took a few more steps in silence toward the infirmary, both lost in thoughts when Mary abruptly stopped – stopping Sara in the process. She turned to look at the younger woman's sad face. She watched her silently for a while before venturing.

"I've been wondering" she hesitated "about…" but on seeing Sara's look of alarm and gentle shake of the head, hollow eyes silently pleading 'no', she thought it preferable to change track. "…about the ring."

Sara's eyebrows shot up in surprise. This was the last thing she had been expecting. She seemed to ponder her next move for a long moment. Her mind made up, she wordlessly took out from under her blouse a matching wedding ring to the one Grissom had.

She played with the ring, a smile blossoming on her face, a twinkle appearing in her eyes. "Mary, what I'm going to share with you is _our_ biggest secret…so you can't tell any one!"

"Scout's honour!" Mary joked, glad she had finally brought a smile to Sara's face.

"Well, where do I start? In our line of work, we aren't allowed…nobody knew we were seeing each other – it had taken _years_ for us to get together, you have to understand that" she said excitedly, "and when he finally proposed it was the single most unexpected, most romantic and happiest moment of my life. I honestly didn't think he'd have it in him to do it, you know?" Sara was broadly grinning at the memory.

The two women resumed their slow wander back toward the infirmary, arm in arm.

"Anyway, he was tending to his bees" Sara continued as Mary cast her a questioning glance coupled with a puzzled frown, "don't ask, you've got to know him, he's a real bug man, another story, another time!" She shrugged her shoulders, smiling. "So he was with his bees and we hadn't seen each other for a while because we were working different shifts"

She paused briefly as images of Natalie and the desert flashed through her mind. Deep sorrow haunted her eyes and it seems to take a few seconds for her to remember what she had been saying. She smiled shyly before resuming.

"Anyway, I wanted to spend some time with him. So, I put this bee suit on, hat, netting and all – I must have looked a right sight! and I went in there … – and God knows bees are _not_ my best friends…by a long way and when he suggested I take one of the gloves off, I did. He wasn't wearing any himself so…" she shrugged her shoulders in a 'I trust him' kind of way. "And you know what happened?" Sara's mouth twitched as she fought a smile.

"You got stung?" Mary was trying but failing to stifle her laughter.

"Just as he was proposing!" Sara laughed at the fond memory. "Anyway, to cut a long story short we got the rings but never got round to getting married, what, with work and…"

"You don't seem upset you didn't do it."

"Honestly, I'm not. Proposing was commitment enough to me. Grissom…how can I put it? doesn't handle matters of the heart very well. And marriage, well it's never something I envisaged for myself anyway. Looking back, it's for the best, really."

"How so?"

Sara shrugged. "There never was a right time to do it and then when I fell apart and fled…well, it just never came up again. When I ran away, I lost the best thing that had ever happened to me. I hurt him, Mary, I did the only thing I'd sworn I'd never do and I betrayed his trust. I can't take it back, now. Can't make it go away. It's too late." she finished regretfully.

"I don't know about that. Love does funny things to people. You left but it doesn't mean that the love you had for each other ended though, does it? And by the looks of things, I'd say I'm pretty right."

"What do you mean?" inquired Sara.

"You both wear your rings close to you hearts, what more proof do you need? Follow the evidence, Sara."

Sara's head snapped up at Mary's choice of phrase.

Grissom's mantra.

_Concentrate on what cannot lie, Sara, the evidence. _Grissom's soft voice echoed in her mind and in her heart. How many times had Grissom cited those words to her?

"Life's given you another chance, Sara." Mary continued. "Grab it! It's going to work out…I have a feeling. You just got to believe. Sara?"

But Sara was no longer listening; her eyes were distant, her expression strangely grave. On hearing Mary calling her name again, her attention snapped back to her. "Huh? Sorry."

"I'm sorry, Sara." Mary smiled.

"Whatever for?"

"This little chat was meant to cheer you up, not bring back painful memories."

"It has, Mary, more than you imagine. You've made me remember the happiest times of my life, and maybe…"

Her plans for a quick departure were forgotten – for now anyway.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: This chapter doesn't flow as nicely as I'd like it to…I had a few issues with it…I hope it reads OK.


	12. Chapter 12

Sara couldn't be sure how long she had been sitting at Grissom's bedside mulling over her conversation with Mary when she suddenly remembered his rucksack. She turned around and saw it still there, discarded by the door. She hastily went to retrieve it and was about to open it when it occurred to her that maybe he wouldn't want her to.

She still couldn't fathom what had brought him to Costa Rica in the first place.

There was no way he could have tracked her down. She hadn't left any trace.

Mary had meant well and had tried to cheer her up but the older woman, as perceptive as she was, could only guess at Grissom's true motives for being there.

No one knew the reasons behind this trip.

No one. Except Grissom.

Could it just be coincidence that they should have both ended up in the same place unknowingly?

She hadn't corresponded with him in weeks, months even, since the misguided, fateful e-mail she had sent him from the Sea Shepherd. As soon as she had pressed 'send', she knew she had made a huge mistake and had regretted it terribly. For weeks afterwards she had tried to convince herself that she had done the right thing and that it was for the best, and she had almost succeeded in believing it – almost.

However much she was to blame for the mess they were in now, she wasn't the only one at fault. Far from it.

He had not tried to make any contact with her at all. Not a single word. His lack of reaction spoke volume and there was no misunderstanding it.

And so she dithered. Should she open the bag or not?

She stared at him for a long time through the mosquito netting as if waiting for a sign – any sign as to what to do.

"Do you want me to open it?" she eventually whispered to his peacefully sleeping form. "So much has happened since the last time we were together…I don't know whether I have a right to." she sighed.

She moved to the open window and leaned her head against the frame, letting the cool air wash across her face, gazing up toward the sky. The moon was up and full and so bright that it lit up the room with its soft glow. The night sky was clear and from her vantage point, she could make out a myriad of glittering stars over the vast expanse of darkness.

"You'd like this, Gil, it's truly beautiful." she told him softly, turning round to look at him.

She caught a glimpse of the gold chain glinting in his hand and remembered what Mary had told her, only a few hours ago.

God, was it already yesterday?

Mary's quiet words spoken in hesitation when Sara had first noticed Grissom holding the ring in his hand re-played in her mind.

_He was wearing it on a chain around his neck when we found him._

If he had it with him, when he had had the accident, maybe, just maybe…

Dared she hope?

Her mind made up, she didn't waste any more time, walked back to the chair where the rucksack laid and quickly got the straps undone, roughly pulling at the toggle to loosen the cord.

She felt giddy with excitement. Her heart started to beat a happy tune in her chest.

On opening the bag, she held her breath and laughed out loud on seeing what was peeking out, squished from the top of the bag – that old crumpled and well-worn straw hat she had got him all those years ago when he had taken her on an all-too-rare trip to New Mexico.

She pulled it out and brought it to her chest, inhaling deeply in an attempt to smell Grissom's scent and holding it close in a tight embrace.

"Do you remember?" She spoke very quietly, almost whispering, with laughter in her voice. "As soon as you set eyes on it, you had to have it, insisted it looked good on you."

She shook her head at the memory and placed the hat on the bed.

She was smiling, lost in the memory, unconsciously stroking the side of his face where his beard had once been. "You'd decided to surprise me by arranging for both of us to have two days off at the same time. God, when was that?" she asked him pensively. And then it hit her. It had been a few weeks after they had rescued Nick.

Wanting to clear her mind of yet more heartbreaking thoughts, Sara continued her search through Grissom's bag. She pulled out a brand new GPS system, his camera, his well-thumbed copy of Moby Dick, three months' worth of malaria tablets and a travel guide on 'discovering and visiting Costa Rica and the Corcovado National Park'. He had marked a few pages with loose sheets which appeared to be print-offs of the information he had been sent by Eric about the research centre.

"So you did decide to take that final trip to the Rainforest after all! Is this what this is, Grissom, a trip? Another sabbatical? What about the lab and your life in Vegas? Have you put them on hold?" she mused rhetorically.

Delving a bit deeper in the bag, her brow furrowed at the discovery of a note book and pen. She briefly flicked through the pages expecting to find it empty.

She smiled her surprise though on recognising his distinctive scrawl over almost half the book. She quirked an eyebrow and looked up toward Grissom intrigued and highly sceptical.

She shook her head again not believing what was in front of her and that what she was holding in her hand was some sort of journal. Curiosity got the better of her and she gingerly opened it at the first page expecting it to be full of data and observations.

Her heart missed a beat and tears immediately welled up in her eyes but this time she was not crying tears of sorrow. She was crying tears of joy, of love, such deep all-encompassing love.

_Dearest Sara,_

_Just in case_

_All the things I never said. Now is as good a time to start as ever._

_All my love_

_Gil._

She brought the chair closer the bed and sat on it as she began to read aloud to him.

_Have you ever been at a crossroads?_

_Stupid question. Of course you have, many times I imagine…_

_Timing is everything and my timing has always been off – as far as you're concerned anyway._

Her voice soon choked up and she stopped sounding his words out; her mouth was unable to keep up with the speed her eyes were devouring his words.

For a good half-hour, the stillness and tranquillity of the room was only punctuated by the occasional incredulous glances cast in Grissom's direction, a few bemused frowns and astonished arches of her eyebrows, and bouts of unrestrained and sincere laughter.

Her expression darkened as she got to his account of the flight to Puerto Jiménes. She knew what would be coming next and dread started to set in as she shifted restlessly on the chair.

As she read his final words, daylight was filtering in the room as the first outline of dawn was peering over the horizon.

Another night had passed and he was still breathing.

The journal fell open on her lap as she laid her heavy head on the edge of the bed in front of her by his resting hand, lulled by the soft and slow movement of his rising and falling chest.

She fell into a deep sleep with a blissful smile on her face, content in the knowledge that he understood, that he still loved her and that he had left it all for her.

* * *

Grissom blinked a few times, his eyes fluttering open and he awoke to find Sara's head resting in the crook of her arm on the bed. At some point, a pillow had been placed under her and the mosquito netting had been carefully arranged around her sleeping form.

The midday sunlight of the new day that flooded the room through the screen on the window was diffused in such a way that to his bleary eyes she looked like an apparition from heaven.

Is this where he was? Had he died and gone to heaven?

He weakly lifted his left hand just enough to stroke her hair with the tips of his fingers. It was so soft, shorter and curlier than when he last had seen her, the way he liked it best, left to its own devices. Her face had taken a new darker shade and a glow he didn't recognise, probably he mused, from her weeks spent travelling.

His heart swelled with love for her. He had no better words to describe what he felt on watching her sleep, a soft content smile on her face.

God, how long had it been since he had last touched her? He could feel the warmth emanating from her body as she moved unconsciously under his caress and he knew that what he had at his fingertips was not a figment of his imagination or some delirious fantasy brought upon by his fever but rather the magical reality.

A soft knock at the door preceded Mary's entrance in the room.

"Hello! You're awake…" she said, unable to disguise the surprise and joy from her voice.

Grissom slowly looked toward Mary and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"How's your breathing?" She spoke in hush tones on noticing that Sara was still sleeping. "Would you like to try without the oxygen mask?" continued Mary, pushing the mosquito netting back, out of the way.

Grissom gave another slight nod and Mary obliged.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Dr Grissom. Have you been awake long?"

He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders but winced at the pain. "A little while" he replied uncertainly.

"How are you feeling?" she asked with a smile.

He let out a short sigh. "Still very sore…like I've been in the ring with Mike Tyson, like my head's in a vice and it's too painful to move but I guess I'm better." he replied, licking his dry sore lips. His voice was hoarse and croaky and he spoke slowly, stopping for air every so often. "At least the throbbing pain in my back's gone…it's more of a dull ache, now."

"That's good; the painkiller's doing its job. Your temperature's down and it's really good to see you awake and talking. I'll let Stéphane know when he comes back." Mary filled a glass with water and brought it to him. "There, just small sips. Do you think you could try to wiggle your toes for me?"

He obliged silently but with a pained grimace.

"Still sore, huh? That's to be expected. We thought it might be a lot worse for a while but the bruising on your back seems to be abating." she assured him. "She's right, you know…" Mary added softly with a smile, to which he arched an eyebrow, "your eyes… Sara couldn't find the right words to describe them, I can see why now." She waited a moment before asking. "Do you want me to wake her?"

"No, please no. Let her sleep. She looks so peaceful. She must be so tired…"

Mary nodded. "She is. She's had a rough time with it. She hadn't slept at all since she…since she learnt." She smiled again as she hesitated to ask. "You don't seem as upset to be here as you were yesterday. Do you remember any more of the crash?"

"No. I've been trying but…my last memories are very hazy. I recall leaving work…driving with Hank looking for Sara…the rest is just…patchy or not there. I just don't comprehend how I got here, or rather why I'm here."

"Give it time, Dr Grissom. I'm sure it'll come back to you."

"And Sara, how…how did you manage to locate her?" he stopped to catch his breath which was getting ragged.

"We didn't." Mary answered. "She was already here at the centre. She's been with us for the last few weeks."

"She has?" Grissom interjected, clearly perplexed. He brought his left hand up to rub his face and noticed that his wrist was heavily bandaged. His right hand and arm were held in a sling over his stomach and he couldn't lift them at all. "I really wished I remembered."

"Patience, Dr Grissom. 'Everything happens to everybody sooner or later if there is time enough'."

"George Bernard Shaw" he told her, smiling a half-smile in recognition of the quote. "And call me Gil, please."

"Not Gilbert?"

Grissom recognised the teasing in her tone and smiled weakly. "God no. Only my mother called me that. And Sara…on occasion."

"That's the second time I hear you mention Hank. Is Hank your son?"

"Huh? No, well sort of" he replied laughing. His laughter soon turned into a spluttering cough as pain shot through his chest. "Damn! I shouldn't have done that… No, Hank's our dog."

"How would you feel if I swapped that oxygen mask for a nasal tube?" Mary offered as Grissom's speech was gradually getting slower and more laboured.

He nodded his head and Mary cautiously fitted the tube while Grissom once again turned his gaze toward Sara.

"You love her very much, don't you?"

Grissom's eyes didn't leave Sara's sleeping body as he gave Mary a slight nod in response. "That much I remember. Can you tell me what happened to me?"

"I don't really know much, Gil, sorry. All I know" offered Mary "is that you were on the flight to Puerto Jiménes that…" she let her words trail "…when we found you and brought you here. You were badly hurt and Stéphane, the doctor, did what he could to save you. Eric, he's the head of the research centre, says that you were on your way here, that you'd volunteered to help us with our study. I'm sorry, that's all I know."

Grissom mulled over the information. "When did…How long…how long was I unconscious for?" Grissom asked.

"Two days."

"Two days? As long as that?"

Mary nodded. "Your watch stopped at 2.15 if you need proof. But you'll need to talk to Stéphane or Sara if you want any more details."

Grissom took all that in and started processing this new information. He needed to understand what had happened to him after leaving CSI after solving the Haskell case. That was his last clear memory. The rest, as he had said to Mary, was patchy at best. In due course, he thought. It would all come back in due course. He just had to be patient.

Mary's testimony was the first clue, the first piece of evidence to his latest investigation. He would find out bit by bit and piece the puzzle together. He would approach this case as he would a game of chess. Move by move. Chess and investigating, two passions he excelled at.

While Grissom had been contemplating his next move, Mary had performed some basic health checks on him and had decided that it was safe to disconnect the heart monitor. It was a relief all round not to have to listen to the sound of the constant slow beeping.

After a while, Grissom spoke again. "How are the other people doing?"

"Other people?" Mary queried.

"From the plane. I expect I wasn't the only one on board." he said sombrely.

"No Gil, you weren't but I'm afraid that you're the only one we found alive. I'm very sorry but if you want more details, you'll really have to talk to Eric. He's the one you have to thank. Him and Stéphane."

Grissom nodded, a sad and serious expression clouding his eyes. "I will. Thank you…"

"Mary. My name's Mary." she said, smiling.

"Thank you Mary." Grissom said, his voice weary. "May I ask you a favour?"

"Of course, what can I do for you?"

Grissom slowly uncurled the fingers of his right hand to reveal the chain and ring Mary had placed there after his panic attack. "Would you mind…putting this round my neck?"

Mary smiled and obliged.

"There" she said after a while fumbling with the clasp. "Back where it belongs."

"Thank you." Grissom stifled a yawn. "I'm feeling quite sleepy now."

"Well, you concentrate on resting and getting yourself better. I'm going to give you something for the pain that'll send you to sleep anyway. Are you _sure_ you don't want me to wake Sara first? I'm sure she'd love to say hi."

He cast one last glance toward Sara before shutting his eyes tiredly.

"Later…" he mumbled. "I'm not feeling too good, right now…I'll see her later."

* * *

Tbc.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Wow! Thank you! Thank you! I can't believe I made it to 100 reviews and counting…I'm completely overwhelmed, you can't begin to imagine…

And what better way to thank you all than by posting this extra long instalment. Enjoy and please, don't hate me…

* * *

When Brass finally got to the ranger station, it was nearing three p.m. local time on the third day after the crash. Brass couldn't recall a time when he had felt more exhausted in his entire life.

He had been travelling non stop for the best part of twelve hours now, having booked a seat on the first plane out of Denver for the seven hour flight to San Jose. He had only managed to get a little shut-eye on the journey though, as his mind had been restless with worry and concern for his friend.

There, his contact at the US Embassy had arranged for him to be picked up from the airport, amazingly by-passing customs because of some immunity thing or other – _shame_, Brass mused; _I could use these kinds of privileges in Vegas._

He was then driven to an out-of-town army base where a Search and Rescue helicopter carrying a fresh team of Air Accident Investigators was awaiting his arrival, engines already idling.

As soon as he clambered on board, they departed for the seemingly short flight to the Sirena ranger station and biological research centre.

Not only was he physically drained but the heat and humidity were also getting to him and he started to feel somewhat nauseous in the cramped confines of back of the helicopter.

_God, the last thing I need is to be sick now!_ he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes downcast, his body lulled by the movement of the aircraft and the thumping of the blades. He tried to squelch the queasiness by squeezing his eyes shut but to no avail.

His distant Marine days sprung to his mind and he recalled the many times he had flown in similar conditions. This time though the circumstances were vastly different, as he was personally involved, the closest person to being his only friend needed him.

They flew over beautiful rolling landscape which went completely unnoticed by the troubled detective as he never even attempted to look out of the small windows to glance at the beauty of the scenery.

He hadn't had the time to dwell too much on the situation since it had heard about it on the news; God was it only the previous day?

Really, if he was being honest he still couldn't swear to the reality of it. It all felt very unreal to him – almost supernatural. And he couldn't be sure on what he would find on arrival either. His contact hadn't been able to update him on Grissom's condition.

What kind of shape would his friend be in? And more importantly, would he still be alive? God only knew.

He had managed to put a quick call in to Catherine while he waited for his luggage to arrive at baggage reclaim and he tried to appease any fears she still had by feigning a nonchalance he was far from feeling himself. He was renowned at PD for his excellent straight-faced b.s. but he was certain that for once Catherine had been able to see through his pretence.

After a while spent in complete silence, as they got nearer their destination the man sitting next to him nudged him on the shoulder and pointed through the small window toward a hole in the canopy of the forest – the crash site. Brass looked down at the jungle, squinting into the sun, shell-shocked at seeing the mangled carcass of the plane, wondering how his friend had manage to make it alive through what he could only describe as hell.

_Someone must have been looking down on you, pal _he mused.

From above, the crash site was certainly a sight to behold.

When the helicopter eventually touched down in Sirena, the weather had turned, the sun was obscured by big ominous dark clouds and Brass was glad they had made it to the centre before the brewing storm.

He looked beat although it was understandable that even a brick like him would show the strain.

A tall man in his late forties who later introduced himself as Eric Grafton, head of the research centre, ran to the helicopter to greet him. The man's smile was brief as he held out his hand for Brass to grab onto to steady himself as he jumped off. The chopper pilot had obviously radioed ahead with news of their impending arrival.

Brass nodded his head in thanks and held out his right hand for Eric to shake while shouting a weary 'Jim Brass' over the noise of the aircraft. He quickly grabbed his bags and didn't waste anytime exchanging small pleasantries as he got down to business straight away.

"Can you show me the way to where Grissom is? I've not been told much detail on his condition. How is he doing?" shouted Brass, head bowed low, moving away from the helicopter.

Eric extended his hand toward one of Brass's bags and wordlessly offered to carry it for him. Brass gladly held his hand luggage out to Eric who waited for the aircraft to take off again before replying.

"Okay, as far as I know. Sara's with him now but she was resting last time I checked. Are you sure you don't want to grab a drink or some food first? You must have been in the air…"

"Sara?" Brass cut in, shaking his head 'no' to Eric's offer of food and drink, clearly puzzled. "Sara…Sidle? She's here?"

"Well, yes." Eric replied hesitantly. Then realisation dawned on him. "Of course, Las Vegas. So, I guess you must know her too." he mused. "I never thought to mention your arrival to Sara, she'll be pleased to see a familiar face."

"None of us had any idea where she'd got to when she left Vegas. Not even Gil. How did she hear about the crash?" Brass asked. "We still hadn't been able to locate her when I left."

The two men picked up their pace toward the infirmary as the wind was getting up, blowing up with it some rain.

"Well, Sara's been with us for a few weeks now. She'd been trekking in the area when I mentioned we could do with the help of a photographer for one of our studies and she jumped at the chance."

Brass nodded, clearly confused. He was aware that Sara had gone abroad but as far as he knew she was supposed to have been back to the States by now.

"But…how does Grissom fit into this?" Brass enquired.

"Well, as far as I know it's totally unrelated, unless they were in touch but somehow I don't think so." replied Eric. "Mary said that Sara's reaction on finding out it was Dr Grissom we rescued was very traumatic, as if it wasn't possible for him to be here at all. I don't think she knew he was coming. We're both worried about Sara, she's taken both his accident and presence here pretty hard and she's not been looking after herself as she should."

"Hell, I can imagine how she felt." Brass muttered. "He sure didn't let any of us back home know he was going to Costa Rica." _Well apart from Catherine._ he added sourly to himself.

"About ten days ago," Eric told Brass, "Dr Grissom e-mailed me offering his expertise to help our research and when I checked him out, I gladly offered him a place on our team…we have many volunteers come and go but none with his kind of credentials. It all seemed very last minute, on his part anyway, very rushed. He didn't get into any detail and never asked about Sara or her whereabouts."

Brass let out a long sigh. "What about his injuries? How serious are they?"

"All I can say is that he's stable and recovering, if you want more detail you'll have to ask Sara or Stéphane."

"Stéphane?" asked Brass, in full detective mode.

"Stéphane Mercier. He's the ex-Médecins-sans-Frontières doctor turned scientist who's looked after him since the crash. Dr Grissom has been very lucky in that we found, rescued and treated him very quickly. If my guys hadn't found him when they did, he would have been out there all night and only god knows whether he'd have survived the night. The S and R team were only able to get to the crash site the next day. I can't praise Stéphane enough; he's been fantastic on treating Dr Grissom's injuries. And Mary. You'll soon meet her; she's quite a character."

Brass nodded as they heard a distant roll of thunder. Afterwards, Eric went on, detailing Grissom's rescue, filling as much detail as he knew about the subsequent treatment. When he finished, there was a silence, just enough time for Brass to get a grasp of the situation.

_How you could have got out of there alive, Gil, beats me._ thought Brass.

"This way" Eric said on getting to the infirmary, holding out Brass's bag for him to take, "you can see for yourself, Mr Brass. Second door on the left. I'll be in my office if you need me."

* * *

Sara started to stir from her sleep, woken by the deafening thumping of yet another arriving or departing helicopter, she couldn't tell. There had been so many since the crash that she had lost count.

She slowly opened her eyes, lazily stretched her arms over her head and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She felt so rested. For just a second she forgot the events of the last twenty four hours. She turned her gaze to Grissom who seemed to still be fast asleep, a soft smile forming on her lips on remembering his words in the journal.

She was filled with happiness, finally glimpsing a light at the end of the tunnel.

All the evidence pointed to the fact that she had been sleeping for quite some time. She seemed to remember dawn breaking when she had finished reading the journal and she must have fallen asleep soon afterwards.

The first thing that caught her attention was that the slow beeping of the heart monitor had disappeared. Now that the helicopter had departed, the only sound disturbing the peacefulness of the room was the low humming of the ceiling fan. The notebook had been moved from her lap onto the bedside cabinet, a pillow had been placed under her head and the mosquito netting had been carefully arranged around her and the bed. _Probably Mary_ she thought kindly. She was also surprised to see that Grissom's oxygen mask had been replaced by a nasal tube.

_He must have woken up when I was asleep_, she reflected cheerfully.

She got up from the chair, laughed as she lowered a hand to gently pat her growling stomach in acknowledgement, glad she was feeling hungry again after the drama of the last day and a half and gazed at Grissom for what felt like the longest time, with such unrestrained love that she felt about to burst.

She had to refrain herself from poking him awake for there was so much she needed to tell him and explain. Things had changed for her in the last few months and for the best.

Things he was unaware of.

She was happy – finally. Well, she had been happy until she saw him lying there, half dead in the infirmary.

That part of her last message to him had been true.

But how would he feel when she explained? Would he feel differently then, differently than what his words in the journal professed?

She had been such a fool, she could see that now. God, why had she waited so much time to tell him?

Reading his words in his journal had put everything in perspective. It had made her realise that she had behaved very selfishly, blinded by her own pain and without any regards to his. If she had just given him the chance he might have, no strike that, he would have done the right thing; would have done what he could have – even leave CSI, in order to help her, to be with her.

She knew that now.

She had never given him the opportunity to prove his love for her.

How blind had she been?

Standing on her tiptoes in order to better reach him without hurting him, she bent down close to his face.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty" she whispered to his ear, with a singing voice. She then placed a gentle kiss on his parted lips. She felt strangely elated, almost giddy. She hadn't felt like this in such a long time, as if a fog had suddenly lifted.

Her laughter died in an instant. Her eyes lost their sparkle.

She froze.

Something wasn't quite right. Something felt very wrong and she panicked.

She quickly bent down again toward his mouth and tentatively hovered her hand there, not daring to make contact.

Her eyes widened in terror and she gasped.

There was nothing for her to feel; she couldn't feel his breath nor could she feel his warmth. She nervously lowered her gaze to his chest. Whereas she had been able to see it rise and fall with each laboured breath the previous day, there didn't seem to be any movement there any longer. While he had felt hot to the touch before, he now felt cool.

He was no longer breathing.

"No, no, nonono. Gil! Gil? Answer me, please, Gil, no, no…" she called hoarsely, unable to raise her voice above a whisper, still not daring to touch him.

She gasped and held her breath, mouth agape until she had no choice but to slowly exhale. Her brown eyes glazed over and she squeezed them shut in tortured anguish. Maybe if she squeezed them tight enough, she could erase everything.

She re-opened them slowly and brought two trembling fingers to the pulse point on Grissom's neck.

Just to be sure.

Again, she felt nothing. Nothing.

No blood pumping in his artery. Nothing.

The weather had turned very quickly outside and as the wind from the sea became stronger, rain clouds obscured the blue sky over the research centre and the lonely room in the infirmary suddenly became very dark. A rumble of thunder rolled in the distance and a flash of lightning lit the room.

Sara never flinched.

She staggered backwards, unable to fight off the feeling of dread and powerlessness that had overcome her.

A chill ran through her as she felt gut-wrenching pain in her stomach that bent her over. She felt so cold.

So cold.

_Oh no, please God, no!_ she begged fruitlessly to a God she didn't believe in.

Darkness quickly enveloped her as though she was going to faint. Her head started to spin like crazy and she felt physically ill. Worried that she was going to be sick, Sara stumbled forward and fell to her knees by the side of the bed, almost crumpling in on herself with pain. She automatically held her hand out to retain her balance and break her fall, and clung onto the only thing readily available – the mosquito netting.

She realised to her horror that her heart was pounding and every inch of her body was clammy with sweat. Her shoulders were taut, her chest was heaving, she bowed her head, eyes tightly shut.

_Is this how you felt when you thought you were going to die as the plane crashed? Is this how you felt on thinking that you had lost me for ever, that part of you had died?_

The cramping in her stomach got worse. She brought her hand down and started rubbing hard the side of her abdomen. Panic coursed through her as she tried to control her breathing, as she tried to slow down the echo of her throbbing heartbeat in her head.

She needed to remain calm so as not to lose it completely.

She needed to take control.

_Come on Sara, you can do this._

She was scared for Grissom, scared for herself but most importantly scared for…She snapped her eyes open to dispel the thought.

This could not be happening.

Unable to stop herself, she started to shake. She covered her face with her hands and wept. She thought that she had already experienced every conceivable pain in her life but she hadn't. Nothing in her past even came close to her misery now. What she was feeling in that moment was the fusion of everything she had ever suffered.

_Be strong, now. You've got to be strong._

As the first drops of rain started to fall outside, she got up to her feet with difficulty and for one last time tried to focus her watery gaze on the man lying there, the man she loved.

He was dead.

Her world was shattering, once more crashing down on top of her. She had been so stupid, had wasted so much time running away and now she had lost him.

_Do you think there's a murder gene?_ her own haunting voice whispered in her ear.

She brought her hands up to holdher head in a futile attempt to stop it from spinning, to stop the voices inside.

She was too late. Too late.

She took a few more long measured breaths frantically looking around for any signs of Mary or Stéphane. Anybody. She tried to muster enough strength to call for help but her brain refused to cooperate and she couldn't make any sound.

She was so weak, her legs were barely able to carry her weight, yet she knew she had to go and get help.

She grudgingly turned away from Grissom and staggered out of the room. She knew Mary wouldn't be far.

She only made it to the hallway of the infirmary before she collapsed once more to her knees clutching at her stomach, not mustering enough strength to make it any further.

She never heard the outside door opening or the hushed voices talking in the background.

She never heard the quick approaching footsteps and the man's frantic calls to her as he grew concerned on seeing her slumped on the ground.

But gradually she became aware of someone hunkering behind her, placing one hand on the icy skin of her arm.

"Sara?" called the voice.

She didn't acknowledge the strong arms of the man gently pulling her up to her feet. At first, she held back and resisted her body rigid. He rotated her slightly and gently put his hand on the back of her neck to take her in his arms.

"Sara? Sara…" he repeated, his voice had softened to a coaxing tone he normally only reserved for children.

When she recognised the voice, she slowly turned round, as though hypnotised by the sound.

The man's eyes slowly scanned her face, it was starchy white and grief-stricken and when he managed to make eye contact with her, he could only glimpse emptiness. They then travelled down the length of her body, settled on her abdomen and then slowly came back up to her haggard face.

He let out a long sigh and tried a sad smile. "Oh, Sara" he whispered, pulling her closer. "What have you got yourself into?"

She shook her head, a hopeless gesture of terror and resignation, still unable to get any volume to her voice.

He took her in his arms, enfolding her in his powerful embrace, murmuring soothing words against her hair.

"Jim," she cried finally, making a sound for the first time, letting the tears fall freely "you don't understand. He's gone. Grissom's gone and now he'll never know."

* * *

Tbc?


	14. Chapter 14

They couldn't have been standing in the entrance hall for more than a minute. Brass was carrying Sara's full weight as she sobbed into his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" Brass shouted in to Sara's hair. "Sara, you're not making any sense!"

He awkwardly rubbed her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner; the tears came in uncontrollable waves, great gut-wrenching sobs that made it impossible for her to speak coherently. He was so stunned by the sudden turn of events that for a moment he was unable to react in any other way than just let it happen and stand dumbstruck in the hallway.

The words she had just uttered to him were playing and replaying in his mind. _He's gone. Grissom's gone and now he'll never know._

He slowly pushed her back from him to make eye contact with her but when her gaze wouldn't meet his, he resorted to shaking her shoulders to snap her out of her stupor. He just wanted to get a reaction from her, any reaction than what he was currently getting, something rational and tangible he could cope with.

Yet, Sara was not giving him anything he could work with. How did you deal with a hysterical woman?

"Jeez, Sara, you're scaring me. What do you mean _gone_?" he asked in a low voice, attempting to hide his growing fear.

He was confused. On the one hand, he had Sara hysterical with what appeared to be genuine grief over the loss of Grissom and on the other hand, Eric had only just told him that everything was fine, that Grissom was stable and recovering.

Why was Sara in such a state? What the hell was going on? Was she having a delayed reaction to the accident?

_Keep calm, don't push her too hard._

Sara's head dipped lower. "I never gave him the chance and now he's gone." she muttered, eyes downcast, tears still falling freely.

There was such despair and finality in her tone that Brass was beginning to lose his cool. He pulled her back in his embrace and held her tight.

"Sara, please. Who are you talking about?" Brass spoke softly close to Sara's ear. "Grissom's fine. That man – Eric, just told me so. And he can't have gone anywhere. He's injured."

Brass could see he wasn't getting to her; she was muttering the same words over and over again into his shoulder. He raised his voice in impatience, shaking her a little more forcefully.

"Sara, tell me what the hell's going on here?" Panic started to set in and he snapped at her in frustration. "Damn it Sara! Snap out of this! Who the hell is _gone_?"

Sara stopped mumbling and crying. She looked about to collapse. Brass braced himself to shoulder her weight and quickly but unsuccessfully scanned the hallway for a chair.

"Someone! Please, can we have some help here?" shouted Brass, frantic with worry getting to the end of his tether.

Whether he was calling for help for Sara, who had to be having a breakdown of some sorts in front of his eyes or for Grissom if he was to believe Sara's ramblings, he wasn't quite sure.

But Sara was his priority for the moment. Brass could feel her body slowly slipping from his grasp. However confused she was by the events, whatever was happening to her felt very real. He just hoped she wasn't losing the baby. His heart was breaking for her.

Stéphane, alerted by Brass's shouting, came running out of the treatment room and rushed to Brass's side. He was visibly concerned and rushed to help Sara but was brashly stopped by the detective who briefly explained that he had the situation under control as regards Sara and told him to go and check that everything was all right with Grissom instead.

Mary, who was just getting back to the infirmary carrying a plate of food, gasped and dropped the plate in her haste to get to Sara's side.

"Oh my God! Sara, what's wrong?" Mary cried unable to hide her concern.

When she didn't get a reply, Mary wrapped her arms around the younger girl, helping Brass to hold her upright. Brass could only look on helplessly.

"Sara it's me, Mary. Come on, take deep breaths. Is something wrong with the baby?" she asked softly. "Sara, look at me!"

Sara turned her teary gaze toward Mary with such undisguised sadness that Mary understood Sara's silent reply to mean that there was indeed a problem with the baby.

"Talk to me please; how's the pain? Is it dull? Sharp? Does it come and go? Is it... ?" Mary's voice was getting louder as her worry grew.

Sara interrupted feebly Mary. "I've lost them both, Mary; I couldn't keep either of them. I…"

Mary let out a sigh as Brass spoke. "That's all she keeps saying. I can't make any sense of her. Where is Grissom?"

"He's next door but apart from his injuries from the crash, there's nothing wrong with him." Mary told Brass. Then she turned to Sara. "Sara, just try to calm your breathing. Just concentrate on that for now, will you?"

"Are you Dr Grissom's policeman friend?" Mary asked Brass.

"Yeah." Brass replied wearily. "Brass. Jim Brass."

"Can you help me take her next door, Mr Brass?"

Brass nodded and they half-carried her to the treatment room where they carefully laid her on the table. Sara offered no resistance but continued to shake like a leaf and to stare blankly ahead.

"What's the matter with her?" Brass enquired nervously. "Well, apart from the obvious." he added somewhat tersely.

"I'm not sure I like your tone, Mr Brass." Mary replied in a similar tone, in defence of Sara.

"I'm sorry." Brass apologised sheepishly while pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn't mean it as it sounded. It's just…well, I've only just got here. I flew here thinking I'd find Grissom half-dead and instead…" he shrugged his shoulders and let out a long breath.

Mary gave a little smile but didn't look up from Sara. "Apology accepted."

Brass bent down toward Sara and placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. Meanwhile Mary had lifted Sara's blouse and had placed her hands on her abdomen to feel for the baby. Brass could only look on in shock, feeling way out of his depth. From his viewpoint, there didn't seem to be any physical evidence – no visible loss of blood and the cramping seemed to have abated now that Sara was lying down, to suggest that anything was the matter with the baby. He felt a little relief at that.

Then Mary quietly explained to both Sara and Brass that the infirmary was ill-equipped for dealing with such emergencies and that therefore she was trying to feel for foetal movement the old fashion way, by gently pressing on Sara's abdomen but that at twenty-four weeks the likelihood of 'feeling' a response was slim.

"Twenty-four weeks?" repeated Brass, incredulous. "She doesn't seem very big for twenty-four weeks. I remember when we were expecting Ellie…"

Mary interrupted his flow. "She's not sure how far along she is, twenty-four weeks is just a rough estimate we've come to but you're right she is rather on the small side. As you probably know, Sara is rather stubborn and apart from me, Stéphane is the only one she's let near her."

All throughout Mary's observation, Sara remained completely still, numb, unfocused eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. She was at long last breathing more normally as she started to calm down.

Brass made a face and shook his head in disbelief. "What's wrong with her?" He was unable to hide the genuine concern from his voice.

"I'm not sure." admitted Mary after a moment. "She was absolutely fine last time I saw her. She was resting when I did my obs on Dr Grissom. But since his accident, she's been under a lot of stress…" Mary left Sara's side and went to rummage for the stethoscope on the shelves by the sink. "I can't imagine what could have brought this on, though. I just hope it's nothing to do with the baby. She'd be so..." Mary shook her head. "I can't bear to think about it."

Sara had now curled onto her side and was staring straight ahead toward the wall through Brass as if he wasn't there. The latter caught a glimpse of her eyes which were haunted with fear and grief and all he could do was swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

_Shit! Grissom first, now this..._

He took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to calm the pulsing heartbeat that was echoing in his head. He stepped back, closed his eyes and roughly wiped the sweat on his face with his hands.

"Shit!" he muttered under his breath as he started to pace the room. He then walked to the window and scratched the two days' growth on his chin.

It was now pouring down with rain outside, and for a minute he listened to the soothing sound of the drumming of the rain on the window pane as the wind was blowing the rain sideways against it. He couldn't see further than a few yards for the darkness and wall of water outside although it was barely 3.30 p.m. He closed his eyes briefly and let out a deep frustrated sigh.

He then turned round and cautiously approached the table, intrigued by what Mary was in the process of doing. Mary had laid Sara back onto her back to examine her and Brass observed her warm the silver disk of the stethoscope with her hand and then place it on Sara's stomach. She kept moving it around while she listened intently for signs of the baby's heartbeats.

"Come on, Sara. Talk to me. It's me, Jim." Brass tried again nervously. "Just tell me what's going on." He found that a bit of humour always worked in the past. "You know I'm not the sharpest when it comes to this stuff…"

She wordlessly shrugged her shoulders, reminding him of a sullen teenaged Ellie.

When she eventually responded, after what seemed interminable minutes, she looked and sounded utterly miserable. She met his expectant gaze for the first time. "Gil's died, Jim. I was too late. It's too late." Her voice which was barely a murmur sounded so convincing.

"That's nonsense, Sara." murmured Mary in a calm voice. "Dr Grissom is fine; he's sleeping next door. I don't know what happened to make you think that, but rest assured Stéphane's with him now. Now let me check you and the baby over."

"That's not possible." Sara whispered feebly. "I saw him. I was there. He wasn't…" Sara tried to sit up. "Please Mary, I'm fine. I need to go and see him. I…"

Sara's tone was enough to tell Mary that she was anything but fine. "In a little while, I promise." Mary told her, gently pushing her back down. Sara was too weak to resist and complied.

"Please, Sara. Something's obviously got you in this state. Lay completely still, I'm trying to find the baby's heartbeat." Mary continued.

Brass was getting more and more agitated, still unable to make any sense of the situation. He didn't know who to believe or what to do. Could Sara have got it right? Could something have happened to Grissom since Mary's last check on him? And where was the damn doctor?

Brass frowned, shook his head in confusion and helplessly looked at Mary for assistance. He was debating whether to leave Sara in Mary's seemingly capable hands to go and check on Grissom himself.

There was an apparent calmness to Mary's demeanour that suggested to him that Grissom was indeed fine and not the issue here. Although she was putting on a brave face and had remained calm throughout, the older woman's search for a heartbeat was getting more hurried and frantic.

On the other side of the table, Brass was losing patience a lot faster. "If Grissom's fine, why is the damn doctor not back already?" he snapped.

Brass's outburst made Sara flinch which in turn startled Mary. The latter glanced up and glared at the detective.

"Sir, that's enough, now." she retorted impatiently. "You're only making things worse. I can't hear a bloody thing! I don't know who you think you are but you are not helping." She paused briefly for breath, in attempt to calm down. "It's clear that you know both Dr Grissom and Sara and are worried for them – as I am," she continued a little more kindly, "but please, either keep quiet or step out of the room so that I can check Sara over properly."

Brass's instincts were telling him to stay with Sara and he reluctantly stepped back to give Mary some space. The older woman wasn't looking so composed any more and Brass had been shocked by the intensity of her outburst.

After a little while, Mary finally looked up again toward Brass and gave him a reassuring little smile.

"Now, Mr Brass, let's try again." Mary told him while gently placing a finger under Sara's chin to turn her head in her direction. "Sara, look at me. The baby's okay. Do you hear me?" Mary said softly, smiling while holding out the stethoscope for Sara to take. "Here, put this in your ears."

Sara shakily did as bid while Mary held the silver disk in place on the left-hand side of her stomach just above her navel.

"There. Can you hear it?" Mary whispered.

Sara frowned and shook her head. Mary pressed a little harder on the silver disk of the stethoscope.

"What about now?" she asked.

Sara closed her eyes and after a few seconds nodded her head and gave a wan smile.

"The heartbeat's very faint because we don't have the right tools but it's there. You can just hear it." Mary added for Brass's benefit.

Sara nodded again and turned her head toward Brass and smiled at him for the first time since his arrival. It was a small smile, her lips were pinched and curved in a downward arch but at that moment it was the best thing Brass could have experienced. He smiled back and took her hand in his to give it a gentle squeeze.

"The baby's fine, Sara." Mary said in reassurance. "We'll need to ask Stéphane to make sure, of course but…" Mary smiled again. "Now, it's _you_ I'm more worried about."

Mary then proceeded to take Sara's blood pressure; she held Sara's right arm against her body while she secured the Velcro cuff, placed the silver circle of the stethoscope against the crook of Sara's arm and started to pump.

Mary continued to talk softly. "Now, as far as Dr Grissom is concerned, you've got to believe me, he was just _fine_ the last time I checked on him."

Sara looked up toward Mary with pleading eyes.

"Have I ever not told the truth? Sara, look at me." She added more firmly when Sara turned her eyes away. "He's only just sleeping. I don't know why you would think that he had died," she continued gently, "but I checked on him not long ago and I can assure you he was fine, sleeping but fine."

Sara shook her head as Mary moved to the sink to fill up a glass of water. "I don't understand." she muttered while sitting up.

"Sara, your blood pressure is very low. Did you feel weak when you woke up? Did you faint at all? Could you just have been mistaken?"

Mary got no reply. "How long is it since you last ate?" Mary continued from the sink.

"What? Huh, some time yesterday, I think." Sara replied, somewhat evasively.

"Sara, you must look after yourself better. I don't know what happened back there but…"

"I woke up and I kissed him and he felt…cold…so cold" Sara interrupted abruptly, eyes staring in the distance. "I couldn't feel his warmth…he felt…Oh Jim!" she cried in anguish. "I was so sure."

* * *

Grissom roused himself with a start, disoriented by the depth of his sleep.

He thought he had been hearing distant muffled noises and voices for quite a while now but still felt quite drowsy because of the morphine and as a result, believed he was having another dream. Only when he felt Stéphane's cold stethoscope on his chest and heard the doctor gently try to wake him, did he open his eyes, startled.

"Sara?" rasped his low rough voice. From his position on the bed, Grissom couldn't see anything. He half-opened his eyes and glimpsed Stéphane mere inches away, getting his small torch out. "Stéphane? What's the matter?" asked Grissom. "Why are you waking me?"

As Grissom asked his question, he recognised Mary and Brass's hushed voices coming through the wall from next door. Grissom frowned, turned his head in the direction of the door and waited a moment expecting to see his friend walk through the door any minute.

When there was still no sign of Brass after Stéphane had finished carrying out all his checks, Grissom looked at the doctor, puzzlement etched on his face. "Was that Brass I could hear earlier…my friend…is he here? Did you contact him?"

Stéphane noticed Grissom's confused face. "No, we didn't. He contacted us. Eric mentioned that he was on his way. He must have got here sooner than we anticipated."

Grissom nodded, wondering how Brass could have possibly heard about the crash.

"He sounded anxious just then. Did something happen? It sounded like Mary and he were just on their way in here."

"I think they're next door in the treatment room, Dr Grissom." Stéphane replied. He hesitated, debating and then shook his head reluctantly. "I'm not sure exactly what happened but Sara seems to have had some sort of…episode." he explained cautiously, trying not to alarm his patient.

"Sara? A what? What do you mean an _episode_? What's that supposed to mean?" Grissom said, clumsily pulling the nasal tube off with his left hand, his right arm being immobilised against his chest.

"How is she?" he asked with rising concern in his voice.

He had to get to Sara. In order to get to her, he had to get up. And in order to get up, he had to get out of this bed.

He tried to use his sprained wrist to push himself up from lying down but couldn't even manage to sit up before the crippling pain brought him crashing down with an agonising and frustrated growl.

"Dr Grissom. Please, you need to calm down. Where do you think you're going with both legs in plaster, your arm in a sling, four broken ribs and I'm not even mentioning the bruising on your abdomen and back?" Stéphane asked in a kind tone. "You're in no fit state to get up, let alone go anywhere."

Grissom took a few measured breaths to control his breathing as well as the pain that was currently radiating down his back. He then let out a sigh of frustration and helplessness.

"I need to check on Sara." Grissom wheezed, unconvincingly.

Stéphane couldn't help notice Grissom's resigned and defeated expression, even a glimmer of fear in his eyes. There was no way Grissom could get out of the bed with or without the doctor's help, and they both knew it.

"Not now." Stéphane said assertively. "You're my priority. Mary's with her and your friend's there as well. She's in good hands."

Grissom nodded meekly, the situation well beyond his control. "Do I have a choice?" he asked rhetorically. "What's happened? You say an episode but she doesn't suffer from epilepsy or any mental illness or from anything else for that matter, please Stéphane, don't lie to me."

The doctor inhaled deeply and sighed through his nose but chose not to directly answer Grissom's query. Instead, he went to fetch a couple of pillows from the cupboard.

"Would you like to sit up a bit more?" Stéphane asked. "I'll make sure you're comfortable and then I'll go and see what's happening with Sara. How does that sound?"

Grissom nodded his assent. "But please, you've got to tell me…" his voice wavered, "please, tell me what's going on. What happened outside before I woke up? I need to know that she's all right."Grissom was trying to fight the sinking feeling that was engulfing him. "She…she means everything to me."

"All right." Stéphane conceded softly. "At first glance, it looked like she had a dizzy spell." He somewhat played down what he had witnessed in the hallway earlier, hoping his half truth would do the trick. He smiled slightly on seeing Grissom's disbelieving face and continued. "Okay, she looked about to faint. It's happened before…only a couple of times though" he added quickly noticing Grissom's returning concern, "when she overdoes it."

Grissom took all that in. _Faint? Dizzy spells? _

Something wasn't right. Sara was never sick. The more he thought about what could be wrong with her, the more anxious and agitated he became. He felt so powerless and frustrated lying there in this bed. But what could he do?

"Sara?" Grissom's voice was hoarse and he was unable to project it. "Sara?" he called again louder, wincing at the pain. Somehow it was important to him that she knew he wasn't far. That she knew he cared about her.

"Dr Grissom, please! You need to calm down now, or I shall be forced to sedate you."

"No. Please. I'll just...I…need to stay awake." Grissom stammered, wearily rubbing his eyes. The headache which had alleviated during his sleep was returning with a vengeance. Grissom closed his eyes and wiped his face with his hand.

"I'm sure she'll be through shortly, Dr Grissom." Stéphane assured. "Mary will take good care of her."

"What's wrong with her? Is she…sick?" Grissom asked.

"No, she's not sick. I can't… it's not really my place to say any more. I can't betray her confidence."

"Can't or won't?"

The doctor furrowed his brow and smiled. "Isn't that kind of the same thing?"

"Please Stéphane, would you go and check on her _now_? If I promise to stay put…"

Stéphane gave in. If anything Grissom was persistent. "All right. You win. But please, no more sudden movement."

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: This chapter has been a real struggle to write and I'm not sure I got it right. But at least now you know he's _alive_!!! I almost truncated it just before Grissom woke up because the chapter is so long but I didn't have the heart!

As usual, I love hearing from you…so maybe after all the '_angry' _reviews I got from the previous chapter, you could let me know how you feel now. And I hope it's not disappointment…


	15. Chapter 15

"_Sara?"_

On hearing Grissom's hoarse voice calling her name from next door, Sara's head snapped up and round toward the provenance of the sound, suddenly alert and aware. The transformation was remarkable and instantaneous. It was as if the hypnotist who had had her under his spell had clicked his fingers to end it.

Her gaze though, however alert, stopped on Brass's face asking confirmation from the detective that he had been the one calling her name. She was unable to hide the bewilderment and confusion from her eyes; were her senses playing tricks and being cruel on her? She had to be hearing voices, had to be hallucinating.

Brass shook his head in silent reply to her unspoken question and then nodded backward towards the other room, a warm bemused smile lighting up his features.

"_Sara?"_

Sara continued to stare uncertainly at Brass through fresh tears brimming in her eyes and on hearing Grissom's voice calling her name for a second time she looked up very slowly and peered over Brass's shoulders toward the door.

Sara sat up, swung her legs over and began to move to get off the table spellbound by Grissom's hypnotic voice.

Mary put her hand on her shoulder to try to stop her. "I'd much rather you stayed here until Stéphane's had a chance to check you over."

Sara ignored Mary's plea and sat on the edge of the table. She stayed there for a little while and then slowly lowered herself down. She was still feeling a little light-headed and unsteady on her feet.

"Mary, I'm fine. You said it yourself." Sara smiled. "Everything's fine."

And Sara made her way next door just as Stéphane was coming out. Brass and Mary were following close behind. There, they found Grissom sitting up in bed, propped up by a couple of pillows, a slow genuine smile forming on his lips on seeing them come in.

Sara slowly shook her head to dispel the vision, the illusion. Was it just possible that she had lapsed into a coma? Had she imagined the whole thing?

He really wasn't dead?

Sara looked from Grissom to Brass and then back to Grissom again, eyes wide with incredulity.

The gaze she finally settled on Grissom however was full of dread.

* * *

As soon as the trio entered the room, Grissom's gaze focused in on Sara. He slowly let out a sigh of relief when he realised that she was indeed well – if a little pale compared to the last time he had seen her while she had been asleep.

He stared at her face for a long time trying to figure out what was going through her mind. Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, her face was haggard and drawn and she looked exhausted. He could also glimpse a look of anxiety and apprehension.

What did she have to be worried about? He was well or at least stable and recovering nicely from the crash. Was she not happy that he'd survived? Did she not want him to be there?

His memory had still not returned and he hadn't been able to recall the true reasons for his presence in Costa Rica.

And if fate had brought them back together, that was a good thing, right?

Grissom slightly ran his gaze the lenght of her body and he couldn't help taking a small sharp intake of breath on catching sight of Sara's somewhat rounded stomach. His eyes quickly sprung back up toward her face and he didn't let on he'd noticed anything. Instead, he gave Sara a shy, pained smile as he held out his hand for her to take.

It all made sense to him now. The dizzy spells. The fainting. She wasn't sick at all.

_Oh Sara! Why didn't you tell me? Is this what you're worried about? Is this the reason why you're looking so scared?_

Grissom's smile wavered a little. He was uncertain about her next move. He tried to convey in the one look he cast her all the love and yearning he carried in his heart. They were three other people in the room but at that moment in time it didn't matter. It was just the two of them.

"Honey, come here" he whispered, almost inaudibly, hoping that these simple words would dispel her fears.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and shook her head silently.

Was she trying to stifle a desire to bolt?

He smiled another sad smile which turned into a wide grin when he noticed the change in her eyes as the love that had been fighting to shine through finally surfaced.

Sara took a couple of hesitant steps toward the bed. She was fighting back tears, working hard to keep her lips from trembling.

"Oh, Gil" whispered Sara, tears finally spilling onto her cheeks. "I thought you had…"

"Ssshhh…it's all right. Come here, honey." Grissom said softly, lifting his hand to motion her closer.

She locked her teary gaze onto his and moved nearer as though hypnotised by his eyes. They were showing her so much love, understanding and forgiveness. So much life. And in that instant Grissom saw all her dread vanish. Suddenly her eyes were glowing with happiness.

She held both her hands out to touch him, bringing her trembling fingers very close to his face, tentatively, as though she was making sure he was real and not a figment of her imagination.

She found herself grinning broadly through her tears at him. She eventually moved her hands to cup his face and kissed him on the lips with all the passion she could muster.

Brass coughed uneasily. "Hum…don't mind us." he muttered, a twinkle in his eyes.

Sara pulled back from the kiss ignoring Brass, her face inches from Grissom's. She stared at him with wide, smiling shining eyes.

Grissom's smile faded and his expression grew serious as he gently asked. "Honey, you okay? Stéphane said that…"

Sara laughed, interrupting him mid-sentence. "You're asking _me_ if I'm okay? I'm fine, Gil. I'm good." She kissed him softly on the lips again. "I should be the one asking that!"

Grissom slowly brought his hand up, and tenderly pushed her hair back from her face; it had got damp and curlier at the temple where the brown strands had separated into little tendrils and he couldn't help notice the redness of her eyes. She had to have shed a lot more tears a while back than the few he had just witnessed.

He wasn't one for great display of affection and certainly not in public and yet he mouthed "I've missed you" to her as he caressed her cheek dreamily, showing so much affection that Brass turned away with a chuckle, embarrassed.

Sara closed her eyes, leaned her face into his touch and let out a long sigh. A sigh of relief, of longing but most importantly a sigh of belonging. She gave a shiver of pleasure, a wonderful spasm that started in her shoulders and travelled down her spine.

After a while, Grissom heard Brass's not so quiet cough and he shifted his position on the bed, lowering his hand to take a hold of Sara's. He begrudgingly turned his attention to the people in the room and to his friend in particular.

"Well Jim, if you're here, it can't be good" he said in good humour with a half smile. "If it wasn't for all the commotion when I woke up and judging by your faces now, I'd have thought I'd just resurrected." he croaked, unaware his choice of phrase was unfortunate – if very close to the truth to say the very least.

How could he have known what had taken place prior to his waking up?

Brass was about to reply when Sara beat him to it.

"You don't understand," Sara interjected, "I really thought you'd stopped breathing…I thought you'd died." her voice broke at the memory and she closed her eyes, blinking away a lone tear.

"Ssshhh…" Grissom said when the penny dropped and he understood finally what all the drama had been about. He lifted Sara's hand and placed it below his sling on his heart. "Feel?" he asked her. "Still beating." he added with a smile.

He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the palm of it softly. "I'm not going anywhere." Grissom soothed. "Remember when you said you weren't ready to say goodbye?"

She gave a sight nod of her head and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Well, it's my turn now, Sara…and I'm far from being ready."

After a while, Grissom looked up and focused his gaze just above Sara's shoulder, on Stéphane who was hovering nearby. The doctor's voice broke the silence that had settled in the room.

"If I may," Stéphane began with a smile, "I think I might have an explanation for what could have happened, Sara, when you thought Dr Grissom had... you know."

Sara turned round to look at the doctor. "What? You mean to say that I didn't just panic and imagine the whole thing?" she exclaimed.

"Well, not entirely. But you did panic. That's for sure." Stéphane added. "As you know, I've been medicating Dr Grissom and managing his pain with morphine for a few days now…" Everybody's eyes were trained on the doctor as they listened intently to his explanation. "…and in some cases, morphine" he carried on, "is known to induce some respiratory depression, as a side-effect if you like. Although in extreme cases, this can cause death, in this instance, it arose during my completely supervised management of Dr Grissom's pain."

"And in layman's terms please, Doctor?" Brass asked with a frown.

"Well, Jim, what Stéphane is saying is that the patient – me in this case," Grissom replied, "the patient's breathing slows right down and can be so faint that to the untrained eye, it can be construed as not breathing at all." he finished, giving Sara a reassuring squeeze of her hand.

"Exactly." concurred Stéphane. "I couldn't have put it better myself. It seems not all your memory's gone, Dr Grissom. It's just unfortunate that Mary disconnected the heart monitor without consulting me first!"

"So he's all right?" asked Sara.

"Absolutely." replied Stéphane.

"Well," Brass told Grissom, "I'm glad we cleared that up. And I see that despite your predicament, you're well and talking. These are very good news I need to pass on. I promised to update the troops back in Vegas so I'll leave you two to it." He winked at Sara, glad to notice that she had regained some colour to her face. He then turned to address Stéphane. "And I'm in need of a good steak. Do you think you can point me towards a good establishment round here?" he asked, tongue in cheek.

"I'll take you to the canteen, Jim" Stéphane said, laughing "see what I can rustle up."

"I'm very sorry for what happened, Sara." Mary said, her expression pained. "I know how terrified you must have been." she smiled sadly.

"No one's to blame Mary, least of all you." Sara told the older woman sincerely. She could guess what Mary was thinking. Srar wasn't aware of all the facts surrounding Mary's husband's death; she only knew that her husband had died very suddenly and that Mary somehow felt responsible.

"Do you want me to bring you anything to eat, a sandwich maybe?" Mary asked.

Sara nodded shyly, smiling her thanks.

"That's what I was on my way to doing when I found you and Mr Brass in the lobby." Mary explained sadly. "And I'll bring you something back too, Gil, if you feel up to it, so you can start to get some strength back." Mary added, turning to Grissom.

"Gil?" mocked Brass. "Already on first name terms with the nurses?"

Grissom grinned at him happily. "Go and see to your stomach, Jim. It still hurts too much to laugh."

"Don't go anywhere buddy, I'll be right back." Brass smiled at Grissom and turned to leave, preceded by Mary and Stéphane. He walked a few steps, hesitated and looked round over his shoulder as if he was just making sure of something.

At the door Brass stopped, turned around and smiled again. He waved 'catch you later' to his friends as he said: "It's good to see you, Gil. Good to see you're all right. And you too Sara."

* * *

Tbc.


	16. Chapter 16

It was just past eight in the morning on the next day when Brass made his way to Grissom's room, uncertain whether Grissom would be awake or not. The new day was promising to be bright, sunny and hot, a far cry from the previous evening's rain, now long forgotten. Brass could feel the humidity stifling the air already and a pale sheen of perspiration glimmered on his forehead, even at this early hour. He took out a handkerchief dabbing at his forehead and upper lip.

After his meal the previous night, Brass had returned to see his friends to catch up as promised but had found Grissom already tucked in for the night and Sara nowhere to be seen. He would try again in the morning.

He had made his way to the sleeping quarters and had quickly fallen in a very deep and welcome slumber in his small bed. He felt both so physically drained and also so happy and relieved to have found his friend safe and sound that he never paid any attention to the lumps in the hard mattress.

But hell! Was he thankful! There was no doubt that he was grateful to have found Grissom alive but he was still a little astounded at discovering Sara's little secret. Judging by Grissom's imperceptible reaction on seeing Sara the previous day – Grissom may have fooled her into thinking he hadn't noticed anything but he hadn't fooled this seasoned detective, it was clear to Brass that Grissom hadn't had the foggiest idea about her being pregnant before that moment.

_Oh, how I wish I could have been a fly on the wall last night and been able to listen to Sara and Grissom's little chat._ Brass mused.

What a development! Brass hadn't had the time yet to fully process the news and for once was at a loss for words.

Never mind what _he_ thought though; how had Grissom reacted to the news?

_First, the accident. Then, the memory loss and now this. They say things happen in threes_…_Well,_ _the poor man's had a rough deal!_ Brass thought.

Could it get any worse?

When Brass got to Grissom's room, the door was slightly ajar and he stopped dead in his tracks. He hesitated for an instant and ultimately decided to watch his friend from his vantage point for a minute before going in.

Brass was pleased to see that Grissom was already up, well 'up' was possibly not the right word to use in this case, but he was already sitting up in bed as straight as feasibly possible due to his injuries, at the ready. Also, Brass noticed that the big bandage around his head had disappeared, replaced by a much smaller dressing covering the gash on the temple. Mary had undoubtedly already been to check on him and get him ready for the day.

This only served to draw attention to the rest of his face and eyes, though. Grissom looked to have aged overnight, even more so than he had the previous months before he had left Vegas. His face had lost even more colour – if that was even possible. It was drawn, his expression was weary and his eyes were rimmed by big dark shadows which suggested he hadn't slept well. Grissom was distractedly rubbing his sore neck, staring into nothingness straight in front of him, looking somewhat despondent and frazzled and engrossed in his own thinking, unaware he was being watched.

_He's not had a good night sleep. _Brass mused.

No doubt he would soon find out why.

After a couple of minutes, Brass held his hand up and gently brushed his knuckles on the door frame before quietly venturing in. On hearing knocking, Grissom's eyes considerably brightened expectantly as he turned his head to look toward the door but this was soon replaced by a marked look of disappointment on realising it was Brass standing at the door rather than a younger and much prettier brunette.

Grissom could only offer Brass a half-smile by way of greeting and resumed staring into space.

_Great!_ _I guess his talk with Sara didn't go too well, then. _

Brass smiled in good humour. "Hey, Gil, you're looking chirpy this morning." he said, picking up on Grissom's seemingly sombre expression. "How are you feeling?"

Grissom lifted an eyebrow. "Chirpy? What am I, Jim? A bird?"

Undeterred, Brass walked a few steps toward the bed. "Wow, steady now, just a figure of speech. But what do I know, hey?" asked Brass in mock innocence, lifting both his hands up in the air by his side in mock surrender.

"It's just…" Grissom sighed, letting the air out through his nose, lips pursed in frustration. "I'm sorry Jim." he paused. "I'm feeling a lot better, thanks. I'm just so damn frustrated! There's so much I need to find out and I'm stuck in here. I…I need to get out of this damn bed."

"I know, pal" Brass said with compassion, remembering his last stint in hospital. "But it's early days yet. If you need to vent, I'm your man. God knows I vented enough on you in the past!"

"I meant to stay awake last night to catch up with you but you know the drugs…" Grissom gave a slight shrug, quickly followed by a pained grimace.

Brass brought the chair nearer the bed to sit on. "Still sore?" he inquired, genuinely concerned on noticing Grissom slight wince.

"A little." Grissom lied. "Could be worse, I guess."

He didn't fool Brass who just smiled. "Damn right, it could. You scared the hell out of me. And everyone back home."

Grissom didn't comment so Brass persisted. "In case you were wondering, I heard about it on the news."

"God, it made the news?" Grissom asked, horrified.

"Well, you know. A man of your standing…" mocked Brass. Grissom wasn't biting so Brass continued. "Only the local news, don't fret. They even showed a picture of you. A good one, too."

Grissom silently pondered that for a moment, eyes downcast, busy picking at the sling holding his arm up against his chest.

Brass waited for a response and when none was forthcoming, carried on with his line of enquiry. "What about your memory? Have you remembered any more about the…" Brass let his words trail and waved his hand about, unable to say the word.

"No."

"Give it time, Gil. You know what it's like. The more you think about it…"

Grissom nodded, closing his eyes wearily, silencing Brass.

_He's obviously heard that one before, time to try a different approach and change the subject, I think!_

"By the way," Brass tried again, unbeaten by his friend disagreeable mood, "I spoke to Catherine last night and she says that everything's fine as regards Hank and the house."

Grissom turned his head to look at Brass, his interest piqued on hearing that Hank was being looked after. Brass carried on. "She said not to worry about a thing and that you should take all the time you like to recuperate." Brass finished as Grissom shot him an 'I'm not amused' look on hearing his last comment.

_God! He is hard work this morning!_ Brass thought.

"Hey, her words not mine before you shoot the messenger." Brass added. "Seriously though, she and the team pass on their best wishes. They look forward to hearing all the details."

"I don't doubt it." Grissom said tersely.

Brass nodded and waited, letting Grissom get around to the real subject – the one they were both skirting around. It seemed however that Grissom wasn't in a chatty mood.

_Pleasantries don't seem to be doing the trick. In that case, I won't beat around the bush._

The detective hesitated, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Grissom sensed Brass's scrutiny and flashed a look in his direction. He held Brass's gaze briefly. Brass took the cue. "How are things…as regards you and Sara?"

_There, I've said it._

Grissom tried a casual shrug but found that his dislocated shoulder was still very sore, so settled for a facial shrug instead. Brass waited briefly for a response but Grissom had once again lapsed into silence. If anything, Brass was unrelenting, on a mission, like a dog with a new bone.

"Come on, Gil." Brass said kindly. "I can remember how tough it is when you're laying in a hospital bed but you're not one to mope."

When Grissom still made no attempt to respond Brass continued. "Level with me here, Gil. What's really bugging you? It can't just be because of your accident and subsequent memory loss. You're on the mend and you haven't _lost _that much time. A week at the most from my reckonings." He sighed. "And where is Sara, anyway?"

Grissom looked straight at Brass as he spoke. "Mary talked her into going back to her own room for the night…said she needed to _rest_…tried very hard not to mention…you know…" Grissom replied lamely.

_Ah! At last! So that's what's bugging him…Tread carefully, Jim. Play it cool or he'll shut himself off._

Brass nodded his understanding. No doubt Mary would have asked Stéphane to check her over too. "Yeah, I noticed." he said casually. "I take it from the look on your face that you didn't take well to the news, huh?"

"What?" Grissom looked up with surprise. "You mean the baby? Sara never even mentioned it."

"And you didn't think to ask her about it?" Brass asked impatiently, shaking his head despairingly. "God almighty, Gil!" he muttered peevishly under his breath. "You've got to snap out of this…mood you're in. You're alive, for Christ's sake! You got given a second chance at life…don't screw it up with your damn pride."

Grissom gave a slight nod but his mind was far away. Exasperated, Brass shook his head again, in a way that seemed to say 'Why is it always so complicated with these two?'

Brass silently watched his friend struggle with his thoughts for a while. He could see Grissom's cogs slowly work in his brain. For once, Brass was convinced he knew what was really at the root of Grissom's foul mood; it was clear to the detective that Grissom didn't want this child.

But how could he get his friend to talk about it?

"What's bothering you?" he asked, knowing full well the answer.

Grissom tore his gaze away from the wall and turned his troubled face toward Brass. "We've been apart six months, Jim and she's not showing that much." Grissom wearily rubbed his face with his hand, "You do the maths…I don't know. Something doesn't feel right."

And suddenly the penny dropped. "Oh, I get it." Brass said with a sad tone to his voice. "And there was I thinking you were upset because she's pregnant." Brass shook his head in disbelief. "But that's not it at all, is it? You're upset because you don't think it's yours..."

Grissom stared at Brass, his expression suddenly tinged with uncertainty and sadness. "I don't know Jim." he answered resignedly. He closed his eyes, rubbed his face and let out a sigh. "Why would she want to keep this from me?"

Brass shot Grissom a look of annoyance and snapped impatiently. "Because you've almost died? Because she's scared? Because she doesn't know how you're going take it? Because you two are supposed to be separated? You take your pick, buddy."

"Her reaction yesterday…and she didn't …" Grissom weakly continued.

"The poor girl was in shock." Brass interrupted earnestly. "Somehow she got it into her head that you had died in your sleep and when I found her, crumpled on herself in the lobby, she was on the verge of losing it, Gil. In all the years I have known her, I have _never_ seen her in such a state of despair." Brass had by then raised his voice considerably. He was growing more and more frustrated that he wasn't getting through to Grissom. "And I _never_ want to see her so distraught again. She really thought you had died, Gil and to me, it felt like she was dying with you."

Brass paused, needing to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. He hadn't meant to get angry and lose his temper in that manner but Grissom's reaction had really incensed him. He got up from the chair, walked to the window and waited a few minutes, slowly letting the air in and out through his nose.

_Has he even heard anything I've said to him?_

When Brass felt calm again, he took up his position on the chair again and resumed talking. "From what I understand, she's not been looking after herself properly." he told Grissom who blew out a tired breath. "Listen, buddy. For what it's worth, I think that you're reading way too much into this." Brass added.

"Maybe." Grissom murmured.

"Gil, what does it matter, anyway? You care for Sara. Even I can see that. The baby's yours, it's not yours…" Brass shrugged his shoulders. "You know I'm not one to meddle but in my experience…well, you know I love Ellie like she's mine…it never mattered to me that she wasn't. You love them anyway, right?"

Grissom's mouth formed a grudging line as he pondered Brass's words. "It might help if I knew what I'm doing here. I mean I know why I came, Eric told me but…" Grissom shook his head helplessly.

"That's simple." Brass interjected. "I can help you on that front. You left, Gil. You left CSI."

"Yeah, I remember that, after the Haskell case. How much time-off did I book?"

"What do you mean?" Brass asked confused. "You didn't take _time off _Gil, you quit. You packed up your office and then you left like a ghost."

"I did?" Grissom asked puzzled.

"Sure. Next thing I know, I see your ugly mug on TV." _and I'm on a ride to crazy ville. _Brass finished in his head.

Brass could see from Grissom's expression that he was trying his hardest to remember and Brass really felt for his friend.

"Give it time, Gil. That's all you can do." he told him reassuringly after a little while in silence.

Ever the detective, Brass spent the next few minutes carefully surveying his surroundings. Eventually, Brass's gaze strayed to the bed-side table. "What's this?" he remarked, cocking his head towards Grissom's notebook.

"Huh?" Grissom turned his head and gave a half-hearted look. "Sara's, I think." he answered.

"It's got your scrawl on it." Brass remarked.

In the same moment, they heard someone move by the door. "Hey" Sara whispered.

Brass's words were left unanswered as Grissom looked up earnestly toward her. Sara was hovering by the door, unsure whether to interrupt or not. Unbeknown to them, she had been standing just outside the door listening to the latter part of the two men's conversation.

"Hey" replied Grissom with a shy, uncertain smile.

Brass quickly got to his feet and turned around. _Time to go._

"Sara! You look a lot better this morning." Brass said. Then, he turned to Grissom and gave him a gentle tap on the chest. "Well, Gil, I'm going to grab some breakfast. I bring you something back?"

Grissom shook his head, motioning toward to plate resting on the bed by his hand. "Mary's already been thanks."

Brass's brow lifted slightly. "Room service, huh? More like bed service to me." he quipped. "Certainly beats anything in Vegas. I might have to come again on a proper vacation next time."

His gentle wisecrack didn't even raise an eyebrow and Brass swayed awkwardly on his feet by the side of the bed. "Well, good…She seems a very nice woman, this Mary. English is she?"

Brass got no reply. "Well, okay. I get it. I'll see you two…later?" Brass finished, with a knowing smile.

Neither Grissom nor Sara replied; their attention no longer focused on the detective. Brass's gaze flitted between Grissom and Sara, the former apparently engrossed on fraying the bandage covering his broken ribs and the latter intently staring at her feet, hands not so casually resting in front of her in a futile attempt to cover her bump.

Brass rolled his eyes. _God, these two! _

He quickly made his way out. Some things were better left private.

* * *

Tbc.

A/N: Sadly we're coming to the end. There's only one more chapter left…please, leave a review.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Okay. So after all the reviews and PM letting me know that you thought the story was far from finished and that I couldn't possibly wrap everything up in one chapter…I've had a rethink and you're probably right. Maybe one chapter would have been a bit too succinct. Thanks Robynne for putting me straight! ;)

So I've split my original final chapter into two (it was quite long anyway) and expanded it a bit more. Therefore there will be two more chapters and an epilogue so I can wrap things up.

As for a sequel…I don't know. See if you like this ending first…I've got another story waiting to be told and I might tie them in a little but not necessarily. Who knows, watch this space.

* * *

Sara waited for Brass to leave before venturing closer to the bed. She was still silently staring at the floor, unable to bring herself to make eye contact with Grissom.

After she had left Grissom the previous evening, Mary had managed to convince her to let Stéphane check her over. Everything looked absolutely fine with both Sara and the baby as far as the doctor could ascertain. Yet he had insisted – again, that she got properly checked with an obstetrician in Puerto Jiménes. Sara had assured him that she would, as soon as she was sure about Grissom's health and their future – if there was one.

Then they had gone on to discuss the arising need to transfer Grissom to CIMA, the main hospital in San Jose now that he was stable enough to be air-lifted. It was a state of the art, brand-new hospital that would provide Grissom with more appropriate and specialised care than what could ever be offered at the centre, as well as treatment and physiotherapy for his broken limbs. The risk of a limp from his compound fractures of the lower legs was real and the severity of that limp would very much depend on the quality of the care he would receive.

Many decisions still needed to be made and Stéphane would discuss it with Grissom in due course – but sooner rather than later he had told her.

Sara had spent the rest of the evening and most of the night lying awake on her bunk pondering Stéphane's words. Grissom would probably want to go back to the States for his treatment anyway. Sara was almost certain he would want to go back to Las Vegas. After all Desert Palm was an excellent hospital and all his friends were there.

Sara wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. What was good for him wasn't necessarily good for her. Would she be able to cope emotionally with moving back to Vegas if the need arose?

Also, she couldn't help replaying the events of the previous day in her mind and how terrified she had been of losing both Grissom and the baby. She still loved him, she had no doubt about that – not that she ever did, even though she may have tried to convince herself of the opposite.

But more importantly, she spent a good proportion of the night – in fact well into the early hours, rehearsing in her head what she couldn't put off telling Grissom any longer.

Would she find the right words to explain? How would he react? Would he reject her? He had the right to know, regardless of the consequences.

After reading Grissom's journal, she had felt so sure about his feelings and his love for her, so elated that he had made the ultimate sacrifice in order to be with her that at long last she had been able to look forward to a happy future together. She had been ready to share her news with him there and then.

Prior to that moment though, she had been so anxious about his reaction about the baby that she had preferred to keep quiet, even if it meant raising a child on her own. She knew he didn't want children and she loved him too much to want to burden him and tie him down against his will. But more significantly, there was no way she could ever go back to live in Vegas, so she had needed him to make the decision to leave freely; not because she asked him to or because he felt obligated, bound by his sense of duty and of righteousness but simply because he wanted to.

It needed to be _his_ choice. And that is why she had kept quiet.

They had only just moved in together when the subject of parenthood had first been broached and they had happily agreed that being parents wasn't for them. Sara's childhood had been so traumatic that she hadn't believed she could ever be a mother – especially a good one. Grissom's concerns were legitimate. He felt he was too old to be running around a toddler, he was genuinely worried about passing down his hereditary otosclerosis and he knew he was too selfish to sacrifice a job he loved to devote all the attention a child needed.

But that was then. Now _she_ felt very differently but would _he_?

_I trust in you, in me – in us._ Grissom's words from his journal echoed in her head.

She took a deep breath in, formed her lips into a somewhat forced smile, looked up to meet his expectant gaze and was about to speak when Grissom beat her to it.

"Honey," he murmured, "you don't look so good. Are you all right?" he asked, clearly concerned.

"I'm fine." she answered with a wan smile. "Just a bit tired." Grissom arched an eyebrow so she added. "I didn't sleep very well." She moved closer. "Anyway, I should be the one inquiring about your health."

He tried to shrug but his dislocated shoulder made it awkward. "Still a bit sore but I'll heal." he added softly on noticing her pained expression.

_Okay, now or never_. Sara hesitated and with as much courage as she could muster, she looked straight at Grissom. "I'm sorry about yesterday, I…" she stammered nervously. She took another deep breath. "Gil, there's something…"

"I know." he interrupted softly.

She gave a shy nod. "Jim told you?"

"No. He didn't have to. I may have lost my short-term memory Sara, but I'm still an investigator. I notice things. I noticed straight away." Grissom gave a half-smile, hesitating. "Despite my amnesia, I'm pretty sure I didn't know about this before the accident or I'd remember."

Sara shrugged and turned her gaze downward. "You didn't."

"Please Sara, look at me."

She lifted her head as he enquired. "How far along…when is…" he let his words trail, uncertain how best to phrase and ask what he so desperately wanted to know.

She could see him debate, not really wanting to ask but needing to know. He made a slight face and broke off eye contact. He began to stare down at the hairs on his chest with impatience.

But it was too late. She had already glimpsed the flicker of doubt in his eyes. Disappointed and hurt, she took a few steps closer still, bent down toward him and lowered her face toward his so she could look him in the eye.

"You don't think it's yours, do you?" she asked suddenly. She didn't attempt to hide the disbelief, disappointment and hurt from her voice and from her face. She spoke with such finality and sadness that he felt ashamed and turned his gaze away.

Grissom lifted one shoulder uncomfortably. "I don't… I just wish I could remember…" he muttered.

Sara went on as if he hadn't spoken. "How can you not _know_ it's yours, Gil?" she murmured sadly and resignedly. "How could you think I could ever cheat on you, let alone be so stupid to have a child with someone I didn't love?"

He didn't reply.

In the not-so-distant past she would have probably walked away at that point, and even if he had wanted to, there wasn't much he could have done to stop her. But not that day.

Sara swayed on her feet, uncertain whether to stay or not but caught sight of the journal on the bedside table and its words once again replayed in her mind. _I wish I could be, become what you need me to be, what you want me to be. I don't want to have to let you down again – ever, because of my ineptitudes, of my shortcomings. God knows I'm deficient in a lot of ways. _

He was trying to change. When he had left CSI, he had put _her_ first, for the first time.

So she decided to face it out. After all, he had almost died on his way to finding her. He had at long last made his decision and it was only because of the crash that sadly he couldn't remember it.

_We're on our way to promise you a beautiful life. A life you promised me over and over again, I want to lay myself bare and start over._

She took a few calming breaths and looked up to see Grissom so sad and dejected that it literally broke her heart. It was up to her to help him now and she knew it. She had to take the first step. Only she had the key.

_Give him a chance, Sara. _She thought. _It was hard on you too when you found out._

It was now or never. "I'm sorry you had to find out under these circumstances," she continued, feeling more collected. "But I wasn't sure about us and how you'd react and…"

He nodded distractedly. "You weren't going to tell me…were you, if I hadn't come." he interrupted her, knowing what was coming next. He licked his dry sore lips, thought about it for a while and asked, "Did you know about this when you send me the e-mail?"

The tone of his voice made her shiver. "No" came the quick reply, barely a whisper. "Please, you've got to believe me. When I sent you that e-mail, I didn't know where we stood anymore. I needed to protect myself and I felt that breaking-up was the best way." she paused. "You never once made contact, Gil. What was I supposed to believe?" she stopped talking. She was getting wound-up again and side-tracked.

_Come on Sara, don't let yourself be distracted. That's water under the bridge._

She moved to the window, gathered her thoughts and she resumed talking, staring outside. "When I was at sea, I felt very sick and at first I _thought_ it was seasickness but after a while, well despite my not eating very much, my clothes were getting tight…" she said turning around to face him, with a small smile and a shrug, "and I knew then."

Grissom still refused to comment and was looking down toward his feet, unable to meet her gaze.

Sara whispered on. "I needed _you_ to decide that you wanted to be with me, Gil. I didn't want you to feel forced into doing something you'd later regret. I know that if you'd known I was pregnant, you'd have done what was right for me and the baby but not necessarily right for you. And I didn't want you to come back to me because of the baby. I'm sorry, Gil. I know you're hurting but please, don't be angry."

Grissom suddenly jerked his head in her direction, wincing at the pain. "Oh Sara! Is that what you're thinking? Do you think I'm _angry_?" he asked her softly.

To her astonishment, he smiled ruefully and patted the side of the bed for her to sit on. "Sara, I'm not angry, not at all. I just didn't know how to react. I'm not thinking straight…" he paused, letting out a sigh. "After all that's happened, it was the last thing I expected, that's all. A bombshell doesn't even come close to what this is. I haven't been able to think about anything else since last night."

She smiled a little relieved; all the anger and frustration of the past six months evaporating and she decided to be honest with him. She had to tell him everything whether he wanted to hear it or not.

Before joining him on the bed, she made her way to the sink and filled a glass with water. She quickly drank it, refilled it and gave it to him. She picked up the plate from the bed, placed it on the chair and shuffled half on/off the bed, not daring any contact lest she should hurt him.

She watched him struggle to hold the glass in his left hand because of the sprained wrist. She took it from him and slowly brought it up to his lips. She waited until he finished, put the glass down on the bedside table and cupped his hand in hers.

She chose her next words carefully. "I wasn't sure you'd want this baby at all." she said quietly. "You've always been so sure that's not something you wanted." He opened his mouth to object. "Please, let me finish," she continued "I didn't want you to feel trapped. For me, there was never any question of getting an abortion. You _know_ I could never do that. I might never be the best mother in the world but I already love this child so much it breaks my heart to even think about it."

Grissom removed his hand from her grasp and moved it up to her face to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. He smiled at her and languorously caressed the side of her face. She smiled back and continued talking. "This baby's got both our DNA, Gil, I still can't believe it but we created this new life." she said, animation showing on her face. "It's a part of us, a part of you." she finished, putting a protective hand on her stomach, feeling tears well.

Grissom could see that despite her tears, talking about the baby had brought a smile to her face and made her happy. He could glimpse at the old Sara back, the one with the sparkle in her eyes, the shy ready smile and the endearing nervousness when she was around him. He realised that she was trying to curb her enthusiasm so as not to overwhelm him.

And Grissom knew then. He knew that Brass had been right all along. He knew they would be all right.

"When are you due?" he asked softly.

"Well, honestly, I don't really know." she said. "Some time in March I think."

_Three months, give or take a few days. _Grissom hesitated. "Stéphane said you'd not been looking after yourself properly…How can you be sure everything's all right?"

Sensing his concern, she placed his hand on her stomach, pressing down on it. "Feel" she said excitedly. "Can you feel the butterflies?"

He waited a moment, unsure of what she meant and then nodded earnestly, gazing at her laughing face as he felt a tiny ripple just on the side of her stomach where she was pressing his hand with hers. He grinned happily at her.

She looked so happy, a far cry from only half an hour ago, a far cry from the last few months they had shared together.

"Besides," she added, "Mary made Stéphane check me over. She can be very persuasive, you know." She stifled a yawn. "She's been a good friend."

"Am I keeping you up, Miss Sidle?" he asked with a smile.

"No, but this little one gets me very tired and I've not been sleeping all that much lately."

Grissom placed his left arm around Sara's shoulder, wincing a little at the pain and felt Sara relax in his clumsy embrace. He placed a tender kiss on her temple.

After a long while in companionable silence both lost in their own thoughts, Sara moved away from Grissom and picked up the journal from the table by the bed. "I'm going to go and see Mary now." she told him.

He tried to object but she had already got up from the bed. She bent down to open the small door of the bedside table and rummaged inside for a few seconds, finding what she was looking for. She got up and then nervously held the journal out for him to take as well as his broken glasses.

"Read this, Gil." Sara said with a small smile. "I think it will help you remember." she added, when she saw him arch his eyebrow in an all too familiar way.

* * *

Tbc.

Hey! No angst! Well, not really. I hope you liked the first part of the ending...let me know!


	18. Chapter 18

Grissom took the glasses and notebook from Sara, wondering what the latter could contain that could possibly help him remember. Unlike the glasses, the notebook itself didn't look at all familiar to him. He placed the broken glasses on the bed alongside his leg; they would be of no use to him now.

He lifted his head toward where Sara had last been standing, casting in her direction a confused and questioning glance but she had already left, closing the door behind her. His curiosity was piqued though and he looked back down toward the notebook and carefully turned it over to examine it, as carefully as he would a new piece of evidence.

Grissom furrowed his brow in bafflement.

It was a plain-looking notebook with a blue paperback cover but no distinctive logo or markings on it. It looked fairly new and not well-thumbed. _Gil Grissom_ was inscribed on it, in the top right corner, very legibly in Grissom's own recognisable handwriting. Yet, try as he might, Grissom wasn't able to identify the book as his own; he was looking at it as if for the very first time.

Grissom scrunched his eyes shut and wearily rubbed his face, trying to quash the onslaught of his returning headache. _God, how I wish I could just remember._

All the events of the past four days had occurred so quickly; he had only been fully conscious for the last twenty-four hour of it and so much of it was still so _blurred_. Grissom hadn't had any time to process any of the information he had gathered so far, let alone consider the consequences of the accident, the extent of his physical injuries or his memory loss. As far as long term complications were concerned, he was still very much in the dark about that too.

Stéphane had been to see him the previous evening and the two men had had a long chat. The doctor had assured Grissom that he should make a full recovery if he received the correct care, which meant transferring him to a better equipped facility. The doctor had then gone on to explain in detail the full extent of his injuries and the treatment he had administered when Grissom had first been brought to him at the centre and how close to dying he had been then.

Since regaining consciousness, Grissom hadn't had the opportunity to really dwell on that fact; he realized then how _lucky_ he had been to come out of the crash alive, how closely he had cheated death and how near he had been to never see Sara again.

Grissom let out a resigned sigh. _Luck? Fate? Destiny? Call it what you want. But, whatever it was,_ _someone must have been watching over me_.

His broken bones would heal in time the doctor had said reassuringly; as for his memory he had been more evasive; it was just a waiting game, a matter of time. It was a lot for Grissom to absorb in one go but Grissom had insisted in being told all the details and had appreciated Stéphane's candour.

This took care of his physical injuries. But what about the emotional and psychological scars? How was he going to cope with those?

And on top of all that…Sara's _happy_ news. There was no denying that Sara appeared to be happy about the pregnancy.

Grissom smiled a small smile in recollection. _Happy does not even come close to what I glimpsed at when she was telling me about it. I can't say I've seen her this genuinely radiant in years. _

But how did Grissom feel about it? Did he really want to be a dad? At his age?

Grissom closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh through his nose. God, a baby was a lot more than what he had bargained for when he had left Vegas in search of Sara. He was certain of that fact, memory or no memory.

He must have spent quite some time deep in thought before he remembered about the notebook. Why would Sara think that this book would help him? Was it somehow linked to his accident? Was it supposed to trigger any particular feelings? Any recollections? His elusive memory?

Grissom looked down at the journal resting on his lap and let out another sigh. Not so far.

He picked it up and gingerly opened it at the first page. _What is this? Some kind of journal?_ he wondered, clearly perplexed.

His eyes took a little time to adjust to reading without glasses and he found himself holding the notebook fairly close to his face. If it wasn't for recognising his own handwriting, he could have sworn it wasn't his.

Could the Grissom he remembered have ever been able to write a journal? Judging by Sara's parting words she had already read it and therefore knew its content and she evidently thought it would help.

_How on earth has she got hold of that?_ _Did I send it to her? Did she salvage it from the plane wreck?_

He didn't know it yet but in his hands, he held the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle – a very big piece at that, as he was soon to find out.

He didn't waste any more time and started to read. Who would have believed that he was capable of putting his thoughts down on paper so candidly?

Sadly and frustratingly for Grissom, reading the journal wasn't triggering the return of any memories of his missing days. Yet the _story_ was compelling and sounded strangely familiar to him as if someone had startled him awake in the middle of a dream. He couldn't recall the exact details of the dream itself but was able to conjure up a vague outline and what the dream had been about.

And the more he read, the more he understood. It was all starting to make sense to him.

First, the reasons for his fairly sudden resigning from CSI. Then, his deciding to leave Vegas in search of Sara. And finally, his presence here in Costa Rica. As for the crash, well, there was no point in dwelling on that now. What had happened had happened and he couldn't change the past but he could do something about his future.

And amazingly againt all odds, he still had one.

At that point, his train of thought shifted and he thought of one man. One man he had lost and had cared about deeply.

Grissom shook his head to dispel the thought.

On the one hand, he had lost what appeared to be around ten days worth of memories. But, did it matter? Most of it was outlined in the journal anyway. On top of that, he was getting new memories all the time; new memories for a new beginning; the beginning of his new life, just as he had planned if not exactly _how_ he had planned it.

The beginning of his future with Sara.

Sara.

His beloved Sara.

Sara and a child.

The Gods had thrown their dice. They had dealt him a different hand than the one he had obviously expected. Like in poker, he would raise his stake. He would up the ante. He could do that; he had done it all his life. Only, this time, he would do it for a woman – the woman he loved, rather than the science. He had devoted too much of his life to science and his job and he had been unhappy in the end – that much he remembered and didn't need to read about in the journal.

The odds were always in favour of the house, right? Well, not this time. He wouldn't let it win.

Now it was Sara's turn – well, Sara and their baby's and he fancied their odds.

The notion of being a father conjured up curious emotional contradictions. Despite his fears of being too old and passing down his otosclerosis Grissom was starting to get used to the idea of parenthood. Medical advances happened everyday, people lived a full life with the condition. He was a living proof of that and there was even a chance that the baby hadn't even inherited it.

Grissom tried to stem the flow of mixed-up thoughts that were swirling in his mind and picked up the journal to carry on with his reading. He had almost reached the end. He only had a few more pages left. He had barely resumed reading however, that the words once again blurred in front of him and became an incomprehensible jumble. He was forced to put down the journal for a minute and rubbed his tired eyes as if that simple gesture could clear the fog in his head.

He thought about the underlying reason for his leaving his old life; his wanting to change or possibly needing to change in order to find happiness and fulfilment, something he couldn't hope to find in Vegas any more.

And it dawned on him that he had already started to change because of the accident. He had come out of it alive.

And he couldn't help thinking back to Warrick again. If Warrick had survived the shooting, he would have strived to do all the things he hadn't had or taken the time to do beforehand. Life's too short, Warrick would often say. His death had been another important factor in his original decision to leave. Sadly, Warrick wouldn't get to see his son grow up and Grissom almost didn't get that chance either.

_But I have been given that second chance. I can do this. I will do this. For Warrick, the son I never had. For Sara and the baby, my future. But most of all, for me._

For the final time, Grissom picked up the journal – his journal, to finish reading the last paragraph, the last entry seemingly written some time on that fateful flight to Puerto Jiménes. He was struggling to keep his eyes open and stay awake. His eyes were sore from reading without glasses and his eyelids were drooping, heavy with fatigue.

The last entry read. _Let's leave the past behind us. Let's look forward to our new future together. _

_It feels like I'm getting to the end of a very long journey – and I'm not talking about the journey to Costa Rica. It feels like I'm finally coming home. Coming home to you Sara._

_And now it's your turn; your turn to have my undivided attention and my undivided love. _

_I've come to realize you're the only one who can make me truly happy. You make me happy Sara and you make me whole. _

_I don't have any regrets and I hope you won't have any either when I turn up unannounced._

_Timing is everything and hopefully this time my timing's perfect._

* * *

When Sara rasped a soft knock on the door frame of Grissom's room a couple of hours after leaving him, she heard no reply. She went in anyway to find Grissom sitting up in bed asleep; his head had slumped slightly to the side, his cheek laid against his shoulder. Grissom was limply holding the journal in his bandaged hand, by his side.

She smiled at the sight. She could see his chest rise and fall with each breath as she walked to the bed. She gently removed the journal from his grasp and lingered by his side for a minute debating whether she should wake him or not.

She decided not to. He looked so tired and battered. She tentatively reached out a hand to rediscover the details of his face; she began tracing a light trembling finger over the black shadows and worry lines around his eyes and then ran the tip of her fingers down the outline of his jaw all the way to the soft dimple on his chin. Her index finger stopped and brushed over his lips as she felt the warmth of his breath as he slowly exhaled. She let out a long contented sigh. She was feeling so elated, so blissful yet so calm and composed. She hadn't felt like that in a long time – years in fact.

She quietly moved to take a seat on the chair and stayed with him while he slept, holding on to his journal, lost in her own thoughts for almost two hours before she heard him stir.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, he was met with Sara's beautiful smile beaming at him. He instinctively returned her smile with a smile of his own.

"Hey" she whispered. "How was your sleep?"

"Hey" he replied hoarsely, rubbing his sore neck. "Good, thanks. How long have you been here?"

"A little while." she told him.

"You should have woken me."

"I thought about it," she told him candidly, "but you looked so peaceful and I enjoyed…just watching you" she added softly. "I can't believe you almost died and I wouldn't even have known it, let alone got to say goodbye…" She paused and hesitated. "…or how much I love you."

He nodded with a smile. "I know."

"Did it help?" she asked after a little while.

"Huh?" he answered distractedly.

She lifted the journal she was holding and waved it in his direction.

He shook his head no. "I still don't remember if that's what you're asking."

"We'll work through it. You'll get better. I know it." She assured him, flashing him a smile.

He gave a slight nod of his head. He looked distracted as if something was playing on his mind. "Sara" he said thoughtfully, "I need you to do something for me."

For some reason, the way he had voiced his request made her feel nervous. "Sure. Do you want some water?" she asked hesitantly, getting to her feet.

"No. I…" He used his left hand to pull out the ring that had got caught just underneath his sling. He looked up toward Sara. "I…Can you take this off for me?"

Sara swallowed the knot that had suddenly formed in her throat as she wordlessly walked round to the other side of the bed to get better access to the clasp and did as he had asked. He kept a hold of the ring as it slid off the chain. She watched him silently from behind with a worried glance, uncertain about his next move and intentions.

So, reading the journal hadn't triggered his memory as she had hoped.

What if he didn't feel the same now as when he had written those beautiful words? Had learning she was pregnant changed things between them? Could he still believe the baby wasn't his? After all, he only had her word for it. All he had said was that he wasn't angry at her for not telling him about the baby but he had never said that he was happy about it, had he?

After a minute or so, when he noticed she hadn't moved from her spot slightly behind him, he slowly turned his head round with considerable effort in her direction with a big excited grin.

And she instantly knew what he was trying to do. She read it in his eyes. He looked even more nervous than she felt.

Her hands began to shake. Her eyes welled up with tears and she nervously licked her lips. He was looking at her with such love and intensity that she stopped fighting the tears that were threatening to spill. He beckoned for her to come round to his good side and still holding on to his ring, held out a shaky hand to take hers.

He took a big breath, locked his gaze onto hers and began to speak. "Sara, I love you with all my heart…"

"I know." she interrupted softly.

"Ssshhh," he whispered. "Let me say what I want to say or I'll lose my nerve." he added, grinning happily at her. "You're the most important person in my life – well, you and the baby" he added as an afterthought, "and I want to prove to you that even though I don't remember writing what I did in the journal, I believe every word I wrote."

She nodded her head, too numb to speak, crying tears of joy.

He took advantage of the fact that she was choked up to carry on. "Unfortunately I won't be able to get down on one knee for quite some time" he continued with a shy smile, "but Sara…would you do me the honour…would you marry me…please? I can't think of a better way to begin…"

Sara started laughing, interrupting his flow. "It's not often you overtalk around me, Gil Grissom." she exclaimed. Then she paused, hesitating. "Are you sure about this?"

He nodded uncertainly while she wiped the tear tracks off her face with the back of her hand.

"So…what do you think?" he timidly asked after a while as she still hadn't answered.

By way of answer, she slowly brought her trembling hands to her neck, unclasped her gold chain and took out her matching ring from under her blouse.

Grissom's face registered a look of surprise. "I didn't think you'd still have this after all this time." he murmured.

"Always." she whispered back, bending down to cup his face to kiss him tenderly. "Always."

Sara took Grissom's ring from his hand and slipped it on his finger. As luck would have it, his left hand despite the sprain was unharmed. She then did the same with hers. She looked up to his face to find him intently watching and grinning at her.

"You don't think this is bad luck?" she asked him.

"What?"

Sara arched an eyebrow toward their entwined hands. "This."

"Who cares?" he retorted. "I'm alive, Sara. And this time the odds are in our favour."

Timing was indeed everything and for once his timing was perfect.

* * *

The end.

A/N: Epilogue to come soon. Sadly, it's the end as far as the story goes…Grissom has got to Sara…eventually, as he did on the show. It was always my intention to end the story there. But I know there is more for them to resolve as far as the future is concerned and I hope to do that in the epilogue. So _stay tuned…_

Many, many thanks to everybody who has read, taken the time to review and enjoyed the story over the past few weeks. I greatly appreciate you sticking with me and your very kind comments along the way. I really hope the ending didn't disappoint you. ;-)

Special thanks to Jellybeanchichi, Moonstarer and Kalsan. Thanks for all the support and encouragement you've given me…you directly or indirectly helped make the story what it has become.

And, if you've enjoyed the story and not reviewed before, now is the time to do it! One word will suffice and as always I would really appreciate it. Même si c'est en français! Je sais que vous êtes nombreux à lire en France.


	19. Epilogue

Epilogue.

When Mary and Stéphane made their way to the treatment room, Sara and Grissom were holding hands sitting side by side on the bed and engaged in a very animated conversation. From the few words Mary caught, Sara must have been telling him about her trip to the Galapagos aboard the Sea Shepherd.

The glow in Grissom's eyes and the grin on both their faces said it all. Mary could only smile a happy knowing smile, glad that they had finally found each other. She had grown attached to the younger girl over a very short period of time and had hated seeing her so distraught the last few days. She would be sorry to see her go but such was life. Mary knew that it was inevitable and according to what Stéphane had told her on their way over, coming much sooner than she would have liked.

Mary and Stéphane approached the bed causing Sara to turn her head in their direction, stopping talking mid-sentence. She smiled "hello", giving Grissom's hand a gentle squeeze and silently moved from her spot next to him to give Stéphane room to work. It was time for Grissom's medication and care. Furthermore, the doctor wanted to ascertain whether Grissom was medically and physically ready for his transfer out of the centre.

"Dr Grissom. How are you feeling this morning?" asked the doctor.

"Good. Much better, in fact. Thank you, Stéphane." Grissom replied with a warm smile.

"Excellent. Well, I'm glad that you're both here." the doctor continued, gaze fleeting between Sara and Grissom. "Have you had time to think about what we discussed last night?" he asked Grissom in particular.

Grissom scratched the back of his head. "A little." he replied. Truth be told, he had wanted to talk it over with Sara but the subject hadn't come up.

"I'm going to need to do a thorough examination to make sure that your broken bones are healing properly, check on the head wound and see if the swelling on your back has subsided. Basically, I need to ensure that you can physically tolerate the ride on the chopper. Just a formality, don't worry." he added, smiling at Sara. "The helicopter will be fully equipped to deal with any type of eventuality. Not that I'm expecting things not to go smoothly of course. It's approximately a forty minute flight to San Jose. And from there, well it all depends on what you've decided, Dr Grissom."

"Will I be able to fly with Gil?" asked Sara.

Stéphane lifted his eyebrows in confusion. "Are you concerned about flying while pregnant? Because if that's the case, Sara, rest assured it's still early enough in the pregnancy for it to be safe – for you and the baby." he told Sara reassuringly.

"Actually. I was more thinking of the logistics of the operation." Sara continued.

Grissom smiled indulgently. "I think that what Sara is trying to ask in a roundabout fashion is if there's going to be _space_ for her in the helicopter." Grissom clarified with a chuckle. He then turned his head to address Sara. "If there isn't, I'm sure Jim would travel up with you. We could get you on the plane…" Grissom abruptly stopped talking.

"It's okay, Gil." Sara said, putting her hand on his shoulder, knowing what he had been about to say.

Stéphane dispelled the slight awkwardness with his next words. "I don't see why not. I would think they'd prefer to have a family member or friend travel with the injured party anyway. Then, the experience is not as stressful and daunting as it could otherwise be, especially in your case."

After a pregnant pause where he let them mull over the information, Stéphane resumed talking. "I'm going to need to make some calls to prepare for your transfer. There's a lot of paperwork that needs filling in and medical checks I need to perform before the insurance people will even give the go-ahead. So…when you're ready to be airlifted, where will it be? San Jose or back home to Sin City?" The doctor said with an arch of his brow, looking at his patient. "Have you two had time to discuss it and made a decision?"

Grissom didn't have to think about that decision at all; his choice was simple and there was only one place he wanted to be. He was about to reply when Sara cut in.

"We're going back to Vegas."

Grissom jerked his head round toward Sara, a shocked and bewildered look on his face.

"No, Sara." Grissom said gently but firmly. "That's not what I want. I came here for a reason. Well, two actually. From what I recall, from my reading anyway" he amended, "I came here to find you and study bugs." He arched an eyebrow. "I'm sorry Sara, but I won't leave until I've done just that. Fifty per cent is just not good enough." Grissom glanced back toward Stéphane. "We're going to CIMA."

"Are you sure about this?" Sara asked. "Think about it, Gil. First, there's the language barrier. Then…if we go to Desert Palm, you know the people, they have some of the best doctors…and the team, our friends, they're there and your home too." Sara argued.

"Sara, stop." Grissom said calmly. "Can we talk about this later?" he whispered to her, gently nodding toward an amused Mary who was failing to stifle her laughter.

"Talk about this later? When? When you're in the helicopter?" Sara asked tersely.

Grissom let out a sigh. "Sara, you left Vegas for very good reasons; reasons I didn't understand until it was too late, until I was ready to leave myself. I'm not ready to go back. Not yet. I'm sure they provide excellent care in San Jose too."

"They do." Stéphane interrupted earnestly. They have excellent facilities. The hospital is fairly new and they have state of the art technology." He looked from Grissom to Sara. "As for the language, most of the doctors speak English anyway. I have a contact in the orthopaedic department, a friend of mine from my Médecins-sans-Frontières days. If you decide to stay in Costa Rica, I'll get in touch with her and tell her to expect your arrival."

Stéphane stopped talking and looked at Grissom questioningly, awaiting his go-ahead. He would have to wait a little longer.

"Gil, honestly, I'll be fine if we go home. The last few months away have done me a lot of good. I've come to realise that it's not the place that was the problem but more what I was doing there. And I've come a long way since then."

Grissom nodded and thought about it for a minute. He then briefly glanced at Stéphane indicating with a slight nod of his head that the doctor could start organising his transfer to the hospital in San Jose, while never taking his eyes off Sara. Despite Sara's assurances to the contrary, Grissom wasn't prepared to take the risk lest she wasn't ready to go back. And anyway, he didn't care much where home was, as long as he could be with her and their baby.

Sara made her way to the window without another word, folded her arms about herself and let Stéphane and Mary carry out their examination and treatment. Forty-five minutes later, the two left assuring Sara and Grissom that the latter was fit for transfer. The former was still staring out of the window, deep in thoughts.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Grissom asked when they were alone. "I honestly think it's for the best. I feel that if we stay here for my recovery, this trip won't have been in vain."

She turned around very quickly, eyes glaring.

"I'm sorry." He back-pedalled, when he realised what he had just said. "That didn't come out how I intended. I…I was referring to the crash. Sara, talk to me, please."

"It's fine, Gil. It's _your_ decision." She told him with a forced smile.

He pursed his lips and half closed his eyes, trying to decipher the true meaning of that last comment. Her tone of voice had been curt. It only took him a few seconds and then realisation hit him.

"Oh my god! What an idiot!" Grissom spluttered. "I am so sorry, Sara. It never occurred to me that you might not want to stay. Did you_ not_ want to stay? Did you want to go back to the States to have the baby?" He paused to catch his breath that had become ragged under the exertion. "It doesn't have to be Vegas. We could go to San Francisco. We still can…I'm sure Stéphane will…" Grissom stammered on.

Sara strode back toward the bed. "Ssshhh. Stop Gil. I don't care where I have the baby. I can have it anywhere. No, I…" she paused. "That's not what's bothering me. I just…I'm not sure you made your decision for the right reasons, that's all. _You_'re going to have to stay in that hospital, Gil, God knows for how long until you can be discharged and if we went back home things would be easier." She argued without much conviction.

She noticed his quizzical expression and smiled. "Honestly, Gil, that's all."

"Easier for me, maybe." he retorted. "But certainly not for you. I told you. You're my priority now. And anyway, as I said, there's plenty more I want to do in Costa Rica before we go back home." Grissom said, with a final tone to his voice.

Sara let out a long breath through her resigned smile. She tilted her head to the side, not breaking eye contact with him and when she saw the resolve in his stare and expression she finally agreed. "Well, if you put it like that, Dr Grissom, San Jose it is."

* * *

"Thanks Jim." Grissom said for the tenth times in the last five minutes as the paramedics were carefully loading him, fully strapped in the stretcher, in the awaiting Medivac helicopter.

Brass stretched up to give Grissom's hand a gentle shake. "Don't mention it." he said. "You'd have done just the same. I'll see you…" Brass raised his voice as Grissom disappeared into the helicopter. "…when I see you. And stay in touch."

"We will." Sara answered.

She had been standing a few feet away, carefully monitoring the two paramedics' handling of Grissom. She then proceeded to hug Brass tightly for a long moment. "Thank you, Jim" she whispered in his ear. "For everything. For being here when I needed it, when we both needed it."

As a reply, Brass squeezed Sara even harder. "Take good care of him, Sara, and of the baby too."

"I will, don't worry."

"And stay in touch." he told her softly.

Brass reluctantly let go of Sara and placed in her hand a piece of paper with the names and details of his contact at the Embassy as well as that of an English-speaking obstetrician. He had also arranged for Sara to be taken to a small family-run pensión close to the hospital.

Sara glanced at the paper and smiled her thanks to Brass while wiping a stray tear from her cheek and stowing the paper in the back pocket of her pants. The detective squeezed her shoulder with affection reminding her to be strong and passed her the backpack filled with the few possessions she had gathered along the way, which lay by her feet on the ground. He watched her haul it onto the chopper as well as Grissom's bag that she had been carrying on her back. She then clambered onto the aircraft and found a seat at the back near where Grissom's stretcher had been secured for a safe flight.

One of the paramedics pulled the door shut and Brass took that as his cue to start moving away from the aircraft. He walked backwards to join Mary at a safe distance and all he could see of his friends now was Sara's helmet-clad head through the small side window.

Sara looked in his direction and Brass smiled as he gave her a small wave which she returned with a shaky smile. He thought he could glimpse another stray tear which she quickly wiped off.

_How different things could have been!_ he thought. _I could have been escorting a dead body back instead._

Something must have been spoken through the on-board radio because Brass saw Sara suddenly turn her head away and give her full attention to the pilot.

As if on cue, the pilot switched the engines on, the rotor blades started rotating, slowly at first and then faster as their loud deafening thumping began to disrupt the tranquillity and peace of the place as the helicopter gradually lifted off.

Brass placed his hand on the small of Mary's back and bent over her to shelter her from the dust and sand the downdraft was kicking up. He put his other arm over his face and had no choice but to look away.

When the helicopter was finally airborne, he lifted his gaze up toward the sky and gave a final wave as he watched the aircraft turn and retreat in the distance up ahead over the dark expanse of the lush jungle. He stayed there next to Mary, rooted to the spot, as though hypnotised by the disappearing dark spot in the sky.

Brass thought back to the moment Grissom had been hoisted aboard and to the glow in his friend's eyes. Despite the events and his somewhat uncertain future, there wasn't a trace of apprehension, fear or regret in his gaze, just a content and quiet happiness. Brass shook his head and smiled.

"What are you smiling about?" Mary asked him, cutting into his thoughts.

Brass turned his head toward her. "Huh?" He answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I'm glad it's worked out for the two of them." She added, seemingly able to read his mind.

Brass smiled shyly. "Yeah. Me too. Me too." he repeated quietly. "It took them long enough."

Mary nodded her agreement. "Did they tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Mary laughed. "I take that as a no, then. Didn't you notice?" she continued.

Brass stared at her blankly.

"I thought you were a _detective_ in the police force, Mr Brass, the best, from what Sara told me."

Brass looked very confused. "You talked about me with Sara?"

"A little." she confessed. "Shall we?" she added, motioning for them to start to walk back toward the camp.

Brass followed suit. "So come on." Brass said. "Tell me, what did I miss?"

Mary smiled and tapped the side of her nose with her index finger. "That would be telling."

"What? Come on." He pleaded. "You can tell me. Besides, there's plenty _I_ could tell _you_ about Grissom and Sara…"

Mary laughed again. "I don't doubt it. All right. How could you not spot the ring on their fingers?"

Brass stopped dead in his tracks. "The what?" he spluttered. "Are you sure? They can't have got married…I would have noticed, wouldn't I?" Brass inquired, now laughing. "Well, the old dog."

Mary stopped walking too and turned round to look at Brass. "Well, they couldn't have done it officially but I reckon it's only a matter of time."

Brass shook his head in disbelief. "Wait till I tell them back home." he mused.

Mary linked her arm to Brass's and resumed walking. "Now, Mr Brass," she continued.

"Jim, please."

"Well, Jim, since you're stuck here for a little longer, how would you like for me to show you round the area?" Mary asked with a smile on her face.

Brass registered a look of surprise. "Oh! I don't know." he told her, hesitantly. She made a pretend sad face and he started to laugh. "Mmm…what do you have in mind? I'm supposed to be back the day after tomorrow."

"Well, you can't leave until you've trekked once to Lake Corcovado or seen the coast. The turtles have only just hatched. It's only a two day slow trek to the Playa Madrigal."

"If you put it like that, I guess I could always call Ecklie."

"Ecklie?" Mary asked softly, unable to disguise the sudden doubt and surprise from her voice.

"My boss." he clarified, picking up on her change of mood. "I'd have to clear it with him first but what can he do? If I put him in front of the fait accompli, he can hardly refuse to extend my leave."

"Good. Because I know exactly where to take you." She paused, a cheeky twinkle in her eyes. "Jim, have you brought your bathing suit?"

Brass burst out laughing. "My what?" he spluttered. He could have sworn she saw her wink at him. Or maybe, she was just squinting into the sun. _Is she flirting?_ "Damn! I'm starting to regret agreeing to this already." he joked.

"Don't." Mary interjected. "We're going to have a great time."

* * *

"Isn't he just perfect?" Grissom asked.

Sara stared at the bundle in her arms and let out a long sigh. The baby wasn't even an hour old yet and she was having her first proper hold. She was absolutely exhausted, sore all over, her hair was clammy with sweat and she was still under the influence of the gas and air she had sucked on during the birth. She had been told that it would help with the pain. All it had done was to give her a high and make her numb. As for dulling the pain… she'd hate to think how much worse it would have been without it.

She shook her head back to reality. "He's so small." she whispered, gently stroking the infant's face with the tip of her index finger.

"Small but perfect." Grissom assured proudly. He swivelled the wheelchair he was sitting on nearer the bed and stretched up to take a peek at the sleeping form in Sara's arms. "You heard what the midwife said, 'de buena salud'" he repeated.

Sara smiled at the memory. Stéphane had been correct when he had said that most of the doctors could speak some English but what he had failed to mention was that the nurses and midwives more often than not, didn't. As for the midwife that had delivered Sara and Grissom's baby,well the least said the better.

"I know but still." Sara replied. "God, how are we going to cope?" she asked after a while.

"We'll be fine." He assured, giving a gentle squeeze of her arm. "Besides, I'm making good progress. I can help."

She turned her head very slowly and gave him a slow disbelieving smile. "You're lucky I'm too sore to move" she chuckled, "or I would have to show you what I think of that."

"What?" he asked innocently, slightly wheeling his chair back out of her reach. "I've always taken good care of my pets!"

"Do you want to hold him?" she asked suddenly.

His face lit up; his eyes shone with excitement. "Are you sure?" he murmured, already extending his arms toward Sara. "I'd love to."

"Just support his head… there."

"God he is so light." Grissom said staring intently at the sleeping infant in his arms, mesmerised by his tiny features, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You know Sara," Grissom continued not taking his eyes of his son, "the 'orthopod' told me this afternoon that at the rate I'm improving, I'll be able to manage to walk on my own in a couple of months and then they're thinking they'll be able to discharge me."

"Oh! That's fantastic, Gil."

Sara was genuinely pleased for Grissom. The last four months had been hard on him but he had never once complained and shown great dedication, determination and courage. Sara knew though how intensely painful some of the treatment had been. For, she had been there to witness first hand his silent wincing as she had helped with some of the exercises.

First, he had had physiotherapy on his dislocated shoulder. The exercises were sometimes excruciatingly painful but the doctor had explained that she wanted the shoulder strong and back to normal before the injuries on the legs had healed. Grissom would need a strong shoulder in order to support his weight when holding the crutches if he wanted to start regaining some mobility in his legs.

And learning to walk again was Grissom's number one priority.

By the time the compound fractures on his lower legs had healed and the plaster casts had been removed, Grissom's muscles were atrophied. It took a lot of painful exercises both in a purpose-built gym and sessions in the pool at the hospital for Grissom to strengthen his legs and learn to stand again – let alone start to put one foot in front of the other, aided or unaided.

At first, the progress had been very slow because so much of the muscle had wasted away but as his legs got stronger again, Grissom had started to stand for longer periods of time, and then a week ago, he had taken his first few steps with the help of Sara. He was still some way from walking completely unaided but he knew that day would come.

Grissom's next words startled Sara out of her reverie. "Honey, I was thinking…when they've discharged me, if you'd like maybe we could take Noah to…"

"I'd love to," Sara interrupted earnestly.

"You would?" he inquired, looking up to offer her a warm smile.

She nodded as she leaned back to lay her head on the pillow. She closed her eyes allowing the exhaustion she'd been trying to fight off to envelop her. She would love to go back and show Mary the baby. She slowly turned her head to the side and peered over to watch Grissom gently nudge Noah's hand open with his much bigger index finger. Grissom was beaming with pride as the little boy unconsciously closed his tiny hand around his finger.

Sara felt such a sudden surge of love overcome her that her eyes filled with tears. She slowly closed her eyes again, a soft contented smile on her lips and was asleep in seconds.

After a while, Grissom looked up toward Sara and smiled tenderly on noticing that she had finally succumbed. When he looked down again, he was met by the most humbling sight – two blue eyes staring up at him.

"Hey, little one," he whispered. "Your mommy's sleeping now so it's just you and me."

"In a few weeks," he continued after a while, his voice barely audible, "when you and I are both stronger, we'll take your mommy on a trip, a trip to a happy place. Now, let me tell you about your mommy…"

* * *

A/N: I hope you like the epilogue and that it answers all your questions! Please, leave a review!

New story on the way…a case driven one with a bit of personal stuff getting in the way! So watch this space.


End file.
